


Unit Tango-Zero-November-Yankee, Dash Double-Zero, At Your Service

by AngeNoir



Series: Cogs in the Machine (Cyborg AU) [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AO3 Fundraiser Auction, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyborg, Dehuminization, F/M, M/M, Ownership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unit T0NY-00 is not like any other cyborg Steve's ever met. In fact, he's willing to say he's almost human. When Fury showed Steve this eager young man, Steve thought he'd be a great asset as a communications and security operative. Then the cyborg pulled out a suit of metal armor, and then the cyborg offered up his trust fund, and somewhere along the way, 'it' became 'he.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatsweetmysteryoflife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsweetmysteryoflife/gifts).



> This is so horrendously late and I apologize a thousand times over to my bidder. The second chapter is more concise and has the direct issue/confrontation there; the first chapter is build-up of the relationship and establishment of Tony's position as an Avenger.
> 
> Again, so, so sorry.

“I need tech support, Fury. I get that you don’t have anyone who can keep up with us besides Clint and Natasha, but I need someone who can diffuse bombs and scan the structural integrity of a building and help run communications. An active, boots-on-the-ground tech support is greatly preferred, but frankly I’ll take a voice in my ear at the very least.”

Fury scowled at Steve, but Steve refused to back down on this. As of this moment, they had only two really big heavy hitters – Thor, who had obligations off-world, and Bruce, who, once he became their heavy hitter, was difficult to control and even more difficult to communicate with. Natasha, Clint, and Steve himself all had specific skills necessary to do what the Avengers Initiative needed to do, but they needed someone strong, someone who could keep the communications up and running, and someone who could handle the varied and, frankly, terrifying combinations of attitudes that were the Avengers. Steve had been begging for a superhuman of some kind, that Fury track down someone who wouldn’t mind working with them.

“Matter of fact,” Fury finally grumbled, reluctantly, “there is something that might fit for you.”

“Some _thing_?” Steve repeated with a frown.

Fury nodded, tapping his fingers against an in-desk screen, a file folder maximizing to a box with vital statistics scrolling down the side on the screen. “Yeah. SHIELD got it because it’s the first and only of its kind, right now, but no one can seem to get it to stop acting… temperamental. Frankly, we were getting ready to scrap it and dump it to the science labs, let them pull it apart and put it back together again. But if it works for you guys, that will be good.”

“What _is_ it?” Steve asked, before he realized there was only one real class of citizens called ‘it’. He frowned. “Not a – ”

“Yeah, a cyborg,” Fury interrupted him, standing up. “Walk with me, Captain.”

Steve frowned, but since Fury was walking out the door, he had no real choice except to get up and follow Fury out. If there was one thing he actively hated in the future, it was the concept of cyborgs.

Cyborgs used to be human – and by ‘used to’, they actually were still human in Steve’s mind, except that either more than seventy-five percent of their body was made up of mechanical parts, or their brain and at least half of their major organs were electronically regulated. Legally, however, they were little more than highly advanced robots. It didn’t help that, simply by being transformed into a cyborg, most of the personality was wiped, or purposefully suppressed. Quite a few right-wing conservatives protested the dehumanization of cyborgs, but since most cyborgs were once humans who had willingly signed over their lives to science or the military (most likely the military) there wasn’t a lot that could be done – and most who willingly signed over their lives were death-row or life-sentenced inmates seizing the only chance they had to continue in some fashion.

And, from what Steve could gather, cyborgs were still relatively new, even with flying cars and trains that could take you from Hong Kong to London in hours instead of days – and even the fact that it had once been ‘days’ blew Steve’s mind, sometimes. Even though cyborgs were strictly volunteer-only, they still had to pass a rigorous amount of tests to make certain that their organs weren’t going to reject the frankly _ridiculously_ expensive and complicated implants and the nets of wires that would travel along nerves and the spinal cord. Only about ten doctors worldwide could competently and cleanly transfer the mechanical parts into a living human host, and of those ten doctors, seven of them were on military payroll.

‘Extreme dislike’ was probably one of the milder terms used to describe Steve’s opinion of those who thought metal changed the fact that the cyborg was still, essentially, a human. Granted, a very _limited_ human, but for Steve, it was like taking advantage of a child, or desecrating a grave – disrespectful of the human dignity that all humans possessed, regardless of the percentage of organic material within their bodies.

“You haven’t been up and moving for more than a year now, isn’t that right, Captain?” Fury asked.

Steve kept pace with Fury easily as they moved through the helicarrier’s docks and down one of its many corridors. “You know exactly how long I’ve been out of the ice and leading the Avengers team, sir,” he responded dryly.

“You catch up with mid-twenty-first century events? The legalization of cyborgs, and the two companies that pioneered the move into cyberkinetic transfers and organs?”

Slowly, Steve shook his head. To be quite honest, he’d been lagging about that topic, because he wasn’t looking forward to reading it.

“You know Howard Stark though, of course.”

“Of course,” Steve said promptly, remembering the short guy with flyaway hair and devil-may-care smile. “He was the weapons supplier. Part of research. Made some sturdy weapons.”

Fury nodded, stepping into an elevator and keying one of the lower floors. Steve knew that it was the lowest floor that held the generators and engines, and the floors above it that held the labs and research rooms. Not that there were many of those; SHIELD’s helicarrier was meant to be a mobile base, a place to recall agents if ever things got as bad as they did with those aliens that first month Steve had been awake. Better equipped labs and facilities were located in SHIELD’s locations on the actual ground.

“Well, his son, Gregory, he really pioneered weaponry. Ended quite a few wars with his designs, started a few others. He had a kid, late in his life.”

Steve paused as the elevator doors opened. “A kid? Director, I was informed that the entire Stark line had died.”

“Technically, it has,” Fury said, stopping outside a door. The only distinguishing characteristic that this door had different from all the other doors that lined this hallway was the fact that it had on its nameplate ‘KEEP OUT’ written in blocky letters over the formal title the room had originally had. “Greg had the kid when he was nearing fifty. His wife was nearing forty, and the birth was dangerous for her. She remained frail the rest of her life, and when the kid was eleven years old, Greg had the family in the car and was driving. Hit a patch of ice, crashed the car.”

Steve swallowed. “They all died?”

Fury hitched a shoulder. “Not exactly. Maria – the wife – she died. Greg was mostly fine, except for a busted up knee. His kid, though…”

Steve swallowed, because kids were always the hardest to deal with when tragedies occurred. “What happened?”

“Kid didn’t die. Might’ve been better if he had. But the kid was a strong-willed sonovabitch, held on tight to life long enough for paramedics to drag him out of the burning wreck. Lost three limbs, damaged a lot of internal organs. Got hooked up on life support and then… nothing.”

“Nothing?” Steve repeated.

Fury leaned against the doorway, glancing in the narrow window briefly before turning back to Steve. “Nothing. Kid was apparently brilliant, a prodigy, and technically, his brain would still work, but he wasn’t waking up. It took Greg twenty years to perfect the implants and neural mesh that turned a human brain into a cyborg brain. The first live human trial – live being a relative term – was his son.”

“He turned his son into a _cyborg_?” Steve asked, incredulous.

“Strange, what people will do for the love of their children,” Fury murmured. “In any case. It took Greg another four years to perfect the neural interface for replacement limbs – replacement organs were already pretty much perfected – and so who you’re about to see is the last Stark. Give or take, considering that legally he isn’t exactly human.”

With that, Fury opened the door.

The room looked – like a room. Almost like an actual _room_ , with a rough cot in one corner to Steve’s left, and a widescreen tv next to it, a small fridge nearby, a couple of weight machines in the corner opposite to the living quarters, and a small showering unit (with a low wall to preserve modesty, though the top half was unscreened) in between the two corners. The rest of the room, however, was a cross between a mad mechanic and a mad electrician’s heaven. Large chunks of machinery littered the far back corner not occupied with the weight machines, and in the near corner opposite the cot there were screens and wires and bits of metal parts that littered the tops of three very large work tables. In the direct center of the room was an oval table, and surrounding it were strange, robotic contraptions that whirred curiously when the door opened.

“For the last time, Fury, I’ll get you the damn specs when I _figure out_ the damn specs.”

One of the robotic creatures skittered to the side with a whirr and click, wheels squeaking, and revealed the form of a man, sitting before the table, shoulders hunched, and head down, focused on what was before him. He had short black hair that spiked at the top and curled a little at the nape of his neck, a white tank top that revealed one whole arm to be inorganic, and loose sweat pants riding low on hips that were organic, but the bottoms of the pants revealed mechanical toes on both feet. Curious brown eyes blinked beneath long lashes, the face highly mobile and very transparent.

This was not like any other cyborg Steve had met.

“You taking the new intern around, showing them the different relics you have moldering away?” the cyborg asked, voice rapid-fire, even as he stood up and pressed his inorganic hand over his – what was that glowing circle in his chest, anyway? – chest, edging close to his heart. Before either of them could respond, the unit – the man? – bowed his head a little and said in flat recitation, “Greetings. I am Unit Tango-zero-November-Yankee dash zero-zero, initiation date May 15 2056, in operation for 57 years, current owner SHIELD, of the US Government, held by said owner for the past 16 years.”

For a moment, Steve just stared. Then he folded his arms and said mildly, “If you wanted me to believe you were a regular cyborg unit, you forgot the last sentence.”

That mobile face winced. “Yeah, well, I have a problem even mouthing the words, let alone voicing them.”

“This isn’t an intern, Tony,” Fury said, and though his face was blank Steve could hear the smug smile in his voice. “This is your new commander. You’ve built that suit and weaponized it; now you get to test it out.”

“It’s _not_ a weapon!” the cyborg – Tony – said immediately, and then almost instantly tacked on, “Well, at least, not a weapon in the traditional sense, more of a deterrent, really, though it has a few offensive capabilities – and commander? What? Am I finally being let out to do something more than tinker with those horrendous designs you keep sending me in hopes that I can salvage something worthwhile off of them?”

Steve broke in to their banter, because he had a feeling their arguments could last a while. “But you’re not a real cyborg, are you?” he asked, stepping forward.

The cyborg – Tony – was shorter than he was, top of its head barely coming up to Steve’s nose, and when Steve pushed into its personal space it stepped back, wary. “Not technically, no. I mean, I am – I don’t age, I have the neural mesh and organs, and the inorganic limbs. By all legal definitions, I am a cyborg.”

“Cyborgs don’t have innovation in them,” Steve growled. “Cyborgs obey orders and don’t speak unless directly ordered to – and even then, they use the minimum amount of words.”

After a brief moment, where Fury simply smirked and the cyborg looked mildly impressed, the cyborg inclined his head. “I’m not the first successful cyborg, but I am the first that had a successful neural mesh transmitter interfaced with the human brain. Greg thought that _that_ was the reason I’m like this – that the neural mesh wasn’t up to snuff, that there were still bits of memories and personality floating around in brain cells that didn’t get overwritten by the mesh. But that doesn’t explain the innovation, or the… uniqueness of myself. I’ve studied my own coding, but either I can’t see it straight out because I’m coded not to, or it’s buried deep enough that I can’t access it without threatening my core.” The cyborg shrugged. “So. Technically, legally, I’m a cyborg. I just don’t think of myself as one.”

“The fact that you can think of yourself _as_ a ‘self’ is kinda a giveaway,” Steve murmured, but his mind was ticking over the implications of this. If cyborgs could retain their personality – if the military and the science community were deliberately wiping personality instead of the wipe happening as an ‘accidental side-effect’ of the various upgrades…

Fury nodded. “This here, Tony, is Captain Steve Rogers.”

The cyborg – _Tony_ , Tony, Steve would have to remember to call him by his proper name, that he was a _he_ and not an _it_ – stared at Steve for a long minute, mouth agape. Then a wide smile split his face and he punched the air. “Fury, you are the bestest owner ever, I take back everything I’ve ever said about you – well, okay, not the bit about your control issues, but _damn_ , I’m going to be an Avenger? I’m gonna be on the team? Fury, I think you just found the surefire way to make certain I make many, _many_ nice new toys for your troops. This is _awesome_! Will I get to move out of storage?”

“Well, hold on there, Tony,” Fury said mildly. “Steve needs to make the decision. We’ve got a few people on the team who might not understand your unique position. And there _is_ the problem that the public can never learn who and what you really are.”

Tony practically skipped to the back of the room, hands moving excitedly, and Steve couldn’t help himself from smiling at the exuberant nature displayed before him. “That’s the great thing about the armor; it’s got a faceplate. Just give me a name and I’m another anonymous hero. You guys have that spider kid that hooks up with you sometime, and no one bugs him for his name. Heh. Bugs. Or if they do, you shut that down pretty quick.”

“We’ll see – Tony,” Steve said, making a conscious effort to use the man’s chosen name. “I need to check with the team, make certain they’re okay with this – because you might be anonymous to the world at large, but the team will need to know who you are. For their own safety, and to keep you safe.”

Tony paused by the large piece of metal lying prone on the floor. “People have problems working with cyborgs,” he pointed out, in an almost robotic voice.

“Well, let me test that out, hmm?” Steve responded. “I’ve got to make certain my team’s on board with a new member – that’s how it works with everyone. I should have an answer by this Thursday, and if all goes well, we’ll pull you into practicing with us at the gym, see how we work together as a team, on Friday.”

Tony turned to face them, and it was certainly off-putting, to see the inorganic limbs and feet, the nervous twitch of electronics pulsing at the temples, the light blue glow of a cyborg’s power source – and yet look into very human eyes that were so guarded and wary.

“Alright,” Tony said slowly. “Friday.” He gave a short, tight nod, moving back to the table in the center of the room. “I wouldn’t have to leave my bots alone, right? I can’t – it would be cruel to just leave them here.”

Steve looked over at Fury, who gave an easy nod. “It’s not like the Avengers have a set base in any case,” Fury grunted. “You’ll still be living here until further notice, so you’ll be around them. In any case, I’ll send someone down in a bit to hand over some spec designs and dossiers on the Avengers. Acquaint you with them, and where the trouble spots would be.”

With that, Fury led the way out of the room, and Steve trailed behind, watching as Tony sat down at the table again and listlessly picked up a screwdriver. One of the robots rolled over to him, and Steve could have sword that the accompanying chirp and whirr was gentle and reassuring.

Once they had gone up a few levels, Fury led Steve into an open conference room and closed the door behind him. Then he tapped his watch, activating the jammer within it, and turned to Steve.

“Right. Tony’s an advanced cyborg, light-years above any other model. Greg put in his best work into his kid, and Tony can remember his childhood almost perfectly – up to and including the crash, though nothing in the coma. He is the most human cyborg you’ll meet. Which is why he can never be in front of the cameras. You can’t use him in your crusade against cyborg usage. He will still legally belong to SHIELD – unless you decide to change that, _and_ unless he agrees to the change – and like Natasha and Clint, he’ll be a ‘loaned’ agent with his own handler and representative. He’s also, you have to realize, still in many ways 11 years old, even though he’s not aging; the nanites in his bloodstream are constantly repairing the organs that start to fail, and he’s been walking around this earth longer than I have. His emotional maturity is pretty much stuck at the point where he went into the coma, even if his objective and logical thinking is much more advanced than most people in the world.”

“How did that come to be? That this process worked with him and no one else?” Steve asked, curious. “And why are we talking about this here, and not in your office?”

“To answer your last question first – I know I have listening devices in my office. If I jam them, my superiors will know something’s up. Though, to be fair, the jamming device in my watch here is more to let Tony know not to monitor what’s being said in this room. He’s pretty respectful of privacy, even if he’s more curious than ten cats.” Fury leaned against the oval conference table, folding his arms, and studied Steve from his one good eye. “I have to say, even if you never want to take him into the field, he’d be an absolutely indispensable asset to have as a security system, communication system, and general caretaker of the building. He wouldn’t even mind all that much, as long as he’s allowed to roam and isn’t locked into one room as he is here. He’s had that for 57 years, after all.” Sighing, Fury rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged with one shoulder. “As to your first questions – no one knows. When Greg died, he actually willed Tony to me – Greg worked with SHIELD a lot, and trusted me, I assume. Still, SE fought the transfer. They wanted to take Tony apart and figure out how to copy the process while deliberately removing the personality.”

Steve couldn’t help shuddering. “Why? Did they want him, I mean?”

“I don’t know. I have my suspicions, and part of it rests with the fact that I think the CEO, Obadiah, knows that Tony’s programming can revolutionize cyborg production. You had to have noticed that Tony can act exactly like a human. In fact, if it weren’t for the pieces of metal you’d seen, he would in effect _be_ human. Imagine a skin polymer stretched over those metal limbs, and a piece of code that turns a cyborg into an assassin. Imagine what someone could do with a cyborg that could pass for human and yet had no rights. Right now, they’re just advanced troops, killers that follow orders to the letter. They can’t replace the quick thinking of an officer or the instincts of an operative. With Tony’s programming, they would.” With a grunt, Fury made an absent gesture at the door. “In any case. What are you thinking right now?”

That made Steve take a moment and pause, putting his thoughts in order. “Clint will have the most trouble with it,” he finally said. “I think Natasha won’t care, unless Clint does. I’m worried Bruce will want to pick apart at Tony, and Thor – well, Thor shouldn’t be any problem at all. But I really expect no real resistance to adding him onto the team. No one else really needs to be consulted; Spiderman helps out here and there, but he’s not on the official roster, and though Reed might be curious, as long as we keep who and what Tony is among the Avengers, there should be no problem at all superficially. However, there is the problem that Tony, for all that he seems really advanced, still comes off as a civilian – a young civilian, even, as you pointed out. What we do – it’s not something that is easy, or that civilians can just take in stride.”

“I think he’ll surprise you with what he’s capable of,” Fury countered. “I know him a lot better than you, and I wouldn’t have shown him to you if I didn’t think he’d fit.”

Steve smiled politely. “You also didn’t tell me all your reasons behind putting him on the team. So I don’t know whether this is something I should worry about or not.” Another thought occurred to him, and he added on, “Plus his handler is going to have to interact with the team, probably even train some of us since they’re not going out into the field alongside us, and that might be a problem as well. I know Couslon doesn’t particularly enjoy hanging around.”

“She’ll put up with it. She’s put up with worse, regarding him. She’ll probably just pick two of you to train, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Fury looked at Steve, evaluating and measuring, and then nodded. “Right. Well. Discuss with your team, and let me know what decision you come to. We’ll see how this falls out.” With that, he tapped his watch again – turning off the jammer – and pushed off of the table, walking out of the room.

Steve really hated political games sometimes. With a sigh, he went to go find the nearest jet back to SHIELD’s land base in New York City.

The Avengers didn’t have a formal place to live; Natasha and Clint were both SHIELD agents, and lived in the agents’ barracks, while Bruce and Steve were given a large enough stipend to get an apartment in the city but barely more than that. As it was, Steve supplemented his income by illustrating books (with a recommendation from SHIELD, but hey, considering the fact that Steve Rogers still wasn’t formally known as Captain America, it wasn’t like he had any other references going for him since he woke up from the ice) and Bruce worked as part of the research department for SHIELD for a slightly higher pay.

(Steve could have worked as a field instructor, or a trainer, and probably gotten higher pay as well – he just preferred art and illustration and had been ornery enough to dig his heels in about it.)

And Thor – Thor appeared when he wanted, which made sense considering that he really was the crown prince of a foreign land and had other duties that took precedence over his position as a teammate.

Still, the helicarrier floated over open water for the most part, or landed in water if repairs were being done, and it took a small, versatile jet to take Steve back to land. SHIELD’s base in New York City certainly wasn’t the largest building, but it was still fairly tall, with a landing pad on the roof. It housed a lot of SHIELD’s paperwork, the agent barracks, laboratories, gyms, and training ranges, and often liaised with multiple other governmental agencies, both American and non-American. Steve had woken up in one of the rooms, when he’d come out of the ice.

(Hadn’t been his best moment, but still. He figured being defrosted after a hundred and seventy years earned him a little leeway.)

“Hey there, Cap, you’ve been out to see the great wizard?”

Steve valiantly kept himself from jumping in surprise and turned to see that Clint was perched on the edge of the building, half-hidden in the shadows, watching him. Taking in a slow breath, he nodded. “Fury thinks he found the solution to our problem regarding a communications operative and technician.”

“Really?” Clint asked, surprised.

“Are you going to sit there and make me stand here talking to you, or can we go in and let me get something to eat?” Steve asked, fidgeting. Not that he really needed to eat right that _moment_ , but he did metabolize faster than normal and required larger portions and more frequent meals than he ever thought possible. And Clint was still recovering from Loki’s mind control; leaving him balanced on the edge of the roof was not exactly a great idea in anyone’s books.

Thankfully, Clint seemed obliging enough, hopping down and following Steve inside. He was dressed in worn jeans, so faded they seemed grey, and a tight black t-shirt under a loose, unzipped jacket. Steve wasn’t dressed much better for a rainy, wet day in NYC, but then again Steve had an immune system that worked overtime now.

“Think they’re serving soup in the cafeteria?” Steve asked.

“You’re a mother hen,” Clint grunted under his breath. “I’m fine. Why did you need to visit the cyclops?”

Steve gave him a disapproving look before letting out a long sigh, exiting the elevator and entering the mess hall. “Well, I need to tell the team as a whole anyway, but perhaps I should give you a personal heads-up. You see, we kinda have a tech person, but they’re not… strictly speaking… a _person_.”

Behind him, Clint’s face closed up, and his mouth took a stubborn set. “You know how I hate cyborgs,” he said flatly. “I don’t want a shellhead around. Bad enough they’re walking around in society.”

“He’s the most human-like cyborg I met,” Steve barreled on. “He’s got a unique set of skills that could be very useful to us. And, if I’m not mistaken, some of the designs on his desk were on your arrows, so it looks like he’s been supplying you with gear for a while now.”

“I don’t—” Clint stopped midsentence and frowned. Steve kept one wary eye on Clint even as he loaded up two trays and moved to one of the tables, setting the trays down and motioning for Clint to take some of the soup. “Designs? I thought cyborgs can’t… they don’t have personalities. They’re essentially robots with faster processors and less glitches.”

“Not this one,” Steve murmured. “He’s… different. And I really think he’d be a good fit.”

Clint drummed his fingers against the table, staring at the steaming bowl of soup before picking up the spoon. “Trial period only.”

Steve grinned widely. “I need to talk with the others, but we’ll have a meet-up on Friday and run through a training program with him. See if he’ll be good in the field or not.”

“You keep saying ‘him.’ I mean, I know you hate treating cyborgs like robots, but they don’t respond to human pronouns.”

Smiling to himself, Steve took another large mouthful of warm bread. “This one does,” he mumbled through the crust.

***

Pepper whipped around to stare at him in shock. “What?” she said blankly.

“I want the Avengers to own me, legally, completely, the whole nine yards. And I know that Dad left money to ‘care for his greatest creation,’ and I want to use that and the family house he left to me – well, to my guardian to hold in my care – to give the Avengers a home. I’ve seen the insides of those barracks. Those are horrible places to live. You can’t honestly tell me they’d turn up their nose at a mansion.”

Pepper poked his belly with her wrench, eyes narrowed at him. “You can’t just throw stuff at them and expect them to like you. Besides, that money and that house is for your continued future, not to just impress new friends with.”

Tony propped himself up on his elbows – Pepper was running diagnostics on his right leg, the one that was almost entirely inorganic, from upper thigh down – and frowned at her. “Why do you think Fury’s doing this? Putting them in contact with me?” he demanded. “I can’t be the only one to notice. Fury might have consolidated his position _now_ , and humans live longer now, but they already have people training to take over Fury’s position. He needs to make certain no one can weaponize what I can do – and that means handing me over to people who won’t do that. If I grant the Avengers ownership and the house, and make my trust fund funnel into it, future Avenger teams will be my guardians and not the guy in charge of shady government operations where new technology is only ever used for evil. He’s – guaranteeing my future, in a way.”

“I don’t think you can just trust the Avengers like that,” Pepper grunted. “I’ve put in too much work to watch them tear you down by treating you like just another cyborg.”

Tony thought back to Steve Rogers – his childhood hero – and the interest he’d seen there. “Well,” he said quietly, “I don’t think they will.”

“You don’t know they won’t,” Pepper shot back.

Solemnly, Tony met her gaze. “No, I don’t,” he said quietly. “But I know Osborn’s the favored pick to replace Fury. I know that if my ownership transfers from Fury to Osborn because Osborn is promoted to SHIELD director, everything my Dad didn’t want happening will happen. Transferring to the Avengers means that new people will hold my ownership papers and I’ll provide valuable services for them so that they don’t ever think about selling me back to SHIELD, or even SE, or anyone. I can do something _useful_ with my life beyond helper robots and cool gadgets.”

“The team needs your cool gadgets,” Pepper pointed out, but her voice was tired and resigned. Tony’s reasoning, after all, was entirely logical and rational.

And if part of his reasoning came from a deep-seated need, at the base of his skull, for companionship and friends, for something emotional that he could not fully understand even now, well. He wasn’t required to inform anyone about his still-very-human emotions that flashed through his body and affected his judgments at odd times, especially when no one believed him when he told them.

***

Steve had talked to each of his team members separately, and now, sitting in a conference room Friday afternoon, he made small talk and discussed the training program they’d go through while they waited for the jet carrying Tony to bring the last member of their meeting here. Even Thor was in town, laughing genially with Bruce on one side of the table, hands moving in complex motions as they discussed quietly between them.

Coulson, the handler for Clint and Natasha, stood at the back of the room with his ever-mild expression unchanging and still managing to look amused. Steve had given up offering Coulson a chair; the man always declined. As per SHIELD contracts, Clint and Natasha were officially part of the Avengers, but their trainer and handler had to monitor them to make certain no ‘SHIELD secrets’ slipped out. Personally, Steve just thought they’d just wanted Coulson along for the ride, but he had to admit, Coulson smoothed over a lot of problems they had in the public and organized clean-up crews for superpowered fights with brutal efficiency.

Right now, Clint was trying to pry more information about Tony out of Coulson, guessing (probably correctly, since Coulson seemed to know everything) that Coulson knew more about the cyborg hybrid than any of them did.

Coulson remained unruffled. Steve had long-since figured out Clint was irritating in the extreme, and didn’t bother to try and reprimand him; Clint would be that way in any case. More now than ever, in fact, since he didn’t like cyborgs. Steve had yet to figure out why.

The door to the conference room opened, and a young woman with fiery red hair in a high ponytail, faded complexion with freckles dusted over her cheeks and nose, blue eyes sharp and wary, dressed in an impeccable pantsuit in a deep charcoal grey and heels that clicked imperiously on the floor.

“Pepper!” Clint exclaimed, an easy smile stretching his features – and then Tony walked in behind her.

He looked marginally more acceptable than when Steve had first met him; his hair was combed into some semblance of order, he wasn’t as grimy and oil-streaked as before, he had on a long-sleeved shirt that wasn’t frayed or ripped and his pants were jeans (also not frayed or ripped), and gloves covered his hands to hide that one of them was inorganic.

Still, that didn’t completely hide the slightly-too-stiff gait characteristic of cyborgs, the silver of the neural mesh ports behind each ear, or the way that he was quite obviously calling up data as he looked over each of them.

“This is the cyborg?” Clint asked, and his voice was reserved.

Tony – flinched, there was no other word for it. And then he recited flatly, “Greetings. I am Unit Tango-zero-November-Yankee dash zero-zero, initiation date May 15 2056, in operation for 57 years, current owner SHIELD, of the US Government, held by said owner for the past 16 years. Currently I am in the process of being transferred to the Avengers, in which case this unit will have a new owner.” There was a pause, and Steve saw Tony visibly swallow, before he ended the diagnostic introduction with the standard line, the one he’d left out when he’d first met Steve. “This unit is at your disposal, sir. How may this unit aid you today?”

Clint stared at Tony a long moment, frowning. “Steve said you didn’t say that bit, when he was describing you. Said you actually had a personality.”

Something flickered across Tony’s face, too fast for Steve to catch it, and then he half-turned to the woman Clint had called Pepper, as if seeking reassurance.

She took over the conversation smoothly, moving to a chair and sitting down, hands folded primly on her lap. “My name is Virginia Potts, and I am T0NY-00’s personal mechanic and handler. Like yourself, Barton, Tony is an asset under contract with the Avengers – if the Avengers will have him, of course. His ability to complete his job is not under review here.”

“No,” Natasha said quietly, “it is not – but his ability to be more than a robot is. We were assured that Tony was as human as a cyborg could get, and that he would not act in typical cyborg fashion.”

Tony had moved to stand behind Pepper – Virginia’s – chair, and now he visibly fidgeted, looking more like a chastised eleven-year-old boy. “You’ve got to be the first people I’ve met who got offended when I used those lines,” he muttered under his breath.

Clint’s breath caught in his throat, even as Natasha leaned forward like a hound on the scent.

“Fascinating,” Bruce murmured. “Grasp of pronouns. _Attitude_.”

“And what do you normally do all day, Tony?” Natasha asked, voice strident as she talked over Bruce’s small noises of wonderment. “What does SHIELD have you do, that you are an asset with your own contract?”

Tony snorted, and either the question made him relax or he was just really bad at holding together the ‘good cyborg’ routine, because he answered snarkily, “What _don’t_ they have me doing? Where do you think the latest updates to your Bites came from, or that new bow and the balanced arrows cropped up from? I build things, and SHIELD has me go over schematics and designs to ensure their integrity. I’m – a mechanic. In a way.”

Now Bruce leaned forward, eyes bright, and Clint looked like a stunned fish. Steve could sympathize with their curiosity and shock; cyborgs had not been around long, but their short, to-the-point reports and clipped, respectful tones, servile manner, third-person pronouns, and refusal to meet the eyes of regular humans was a distinctive characteristic of any cyborg. Everyone assumed that such behavior was programmed in, especially considering that half to three-fourths of cyborgs were criminals that had never been so docile before.

Tony looked taken aback, though, and highly uncomfortable at the laser-like intensity most of the team were leveling at him. He took half a step forward, moving closer to Virginia’s chair. “What?” he asked defensively, bristling.

“Who is your creator?” Bruce asked, looking as if he wanted to get up and start tinkering around inside Tony’s internal organs. “You’re nothing like any of the other cyborgs around here.”

“Of course I’m not,” Tony responded immediately. “Top of the line. Dash-zero-zero, remember? The only one made. Cutting edge. Fifty-seven years of experience. Already know most of your tech preferences, since I’ve been providing you with your weapon and tech upgrades for the past year in any case. Best option, here. Plus, I can throw in a sweetener.”

“Tony,” Virginia said disapprovingly.

Tony patted the back of Virginia’s chair and smiled brightly at the rest of them. “My creator is Gregory Stark himself, the first ever to get the neural mesh transmitter interfaced with a human brain. Mine, actually. He perfected the transmitter on me. And he was – fond of me, to an extent that a creator can be fond of a cyborg. So he left… money, and one of the Stark houses, in a trust fund for my continued care. And, hell, if the Avengers are going to own my contract now, I might as well as give them an actual home so I don’t have to live in a cramped lab in SHIELD’s helicarrier anymore.”

“You’ve lived on the helicarrier?” Clint interjected. Steve was glad for his interruption, because he was still reeling over Tony’s offer and the casual way Tony just offered his ownership to them.

It was – it was a clear bribe, obviously, given them a house, a home, with the condition of letting him stay, and it both saddened Steve and incited his curiosity. How did a cyborg suddenly have the ability to offer a house and money to people? Cyborgs had no legal rights to property under any law. That should be impossible.

Though Tony did say that his contract would be transferred, and that said money and house were the trust fund for him. SHIELD must already own that, and the deed and passkey for the money would transfer over to the leader of the Avengers if the Avengers bought Tony’s contract. Or had it transferred, since they weren’t really _buying_ it.

Thor, however, came to Tony’s rescue before Steve could get his act together. “You need not buy your way with us, friend Tony – we need a fellow warrior on the team. We have a training ground reserved for our use; come, and join us in battle!”

Tony stared at Thor a moment before a wide, _genuine_ grin spread across his face. “I like you,” he said. “I think you’re my favorite. Alright, if this is trial by combat, let’s get this show on the road?”

***

As Steve took up the replica shield – replica, because his real shield was in his apartment, and he hadn’t brought it because he’d had enough difficulty getting it out of SHIELD’s clutches before – and Thor joked boisterously with Clint (Bruce was sitting this one out), Pepper leaned against the wall by the door, quietly chatting with Natasha. Both redheads, both looked able to kill Steve if he so much as looked at them wrong, and both were scarily amazing.

“I know about Romanoff, and Barton, at least superficially.”

Steve turned to see that Tony had a suitcase in front of him and was nervously stripping off shirt and shoes, revealing that his left arm was inorganic all the way up to his shoulder and even with a few inorganic pieces anchored into his ribs and chest. His chest and right arm looked completely organic, though both were scarred, and in the center of his chest his power source glowed a light blue, throwing his face in light relief.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, glancing over at the others.

Tony hummed under his breath as he folded the shirt and hunched his shoulders a bit, curling around himself protectively. “Yeah. They, um. Well. I, I’m really good at technology, you know.”

“I gathered,” Steve said dryly.

That made the corner of Tony’s mouth tick up into a momentary smile before it fell away again. “Well, they’re SHIELD agents, and I was commissioned to make a lot of their weapons – especially since they have very _unique_ weapons, not the standard point-and-shoot-any-idiot-can-use-it gun.” He licked his lips nervously, and though Steve knew objectively that Tony had been in operation for more than fifty years – easily the eldest out of all of them except Thor, but Thor was pretty much an alien race anyway – Tony looked nothing more than a nervous kid, hoping to get picked at recess.

A look Steve knew intimately, because it was one he had had on himself, far too often for his own liking.

“Anyway. I get – I know why Barton might not like me. So if – if you would rather, I can make sure to stay out of his way. And I don’t think Romanoff _dis_ likes me, but I don’t know. And Dr. Banner… he can poke around, if Pepper’s there.” Tony took the bulky suitcase and laid it flat on the ground, studiously not meeting Steve’s eyes.

Making a snap decision, Steve stepped closer to Tony, blocking out the rest of the gym from seeing him and forcing Tony’s attention solely on him. “Tony, this here? This is just to see if you’re compatible with us _in the field_.”

Tony licked his lips, body leaning sideways to look past Steve at the others, but Steve grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “ _Tony_. You’re already on the team, alright? We only needed someone to cover the communication systems. You don’t need to offer your trust fund, you don’t need to give up the house in trust for you either, and you certainly don’t need to be out in the field if you don’t want to. You’re on the team, okay? This is – this _was_ just extra.”

There was a subtle shift in Tony’s eyes, somehow moving him from young child to old soul in one short step, dropping his gaze to Steve’s hand on his shoulder and then jumping his eyes back up to Steve’s. “I didn’t want this offered out of – pity. And I know I can offer stuff on the field, even if I’m not military trained like the rest of you. I want to try this.”

“Well.” Steve cleared his throat awkwardly and let go of Tony’s shoulder. “Well, if you want to try.”

Tony’s face crinkled into a smile, wide and bright, even as he waved Steve back a step. “You gotta give me room to show you to the coolest thing since flying cars.”

“I dunno, flying cars are pretty—”

Tony tapped his foot against the suitcase, and it suddenly – _unfolded_ , metal sliding like a futuristic cocoon, opening up to reveal a – a giant metal suit?

Still with that giant grin, with an added hint of smug superiority, Tony stepped forward and the metal suit _enclosed_ Tony, metal plates clanking as they spread out, down his arms, over his legs, shuffling and twisting like intricate dancers, everyone knowing exactly their place. A larger metal plate slid around Tony’s power source, linked in, and lines that Steve hadn’t even noticed were _there_ suddenly glowed light blue where the plates hadn’t yet covered, the power source running through the wires that snaked in a mesh beneath the unfolding metal suit.

Tony’s eyes were alight with childish glee and mischief, and then a faceplate slid down over his head and locked in tight.

Steve was abruptly aware that everyone in the room, even Virginia (Pepper?) Potts, was silent and staring.

“No one will know you have a cyborg on your team,” Tony began, and his voice was altered, metallic, through the suit, “because no one will _see_ me at all! I’ll just be a guy in a highly specialized and completely unique and unknown metal prosthetic!”

“I think prosthetic is pushing it, Tony,” Potts said, a bit faintly.

Thor let out a bark of laughter and strode over to Tony’s side to clap the man on the back (sending him stumbling forward). “Verily, this almost surpasses the craft of the svartalfar and dvergar! You have become a man of iron, and a worthy opponent in battle!”

The helmeted head cocked slightly in Thor’s direction. “Actually, it’s a titanium alloy with—”

“Iron Man,” Clint said suddenly. When everyone turned to look at him, he shrugged. “What? No one will care about what it’s _really_ made out of – we just introduce our newest member, Iron Man, and say that his identity needs to be kept secret to protect him and his family or whatever. If the suit is useful in battle, of course.”

“Of course it’s useful in battle!” Tony said indignantly, which is when the hands suddenly glowed and a muffled roar made the floor vibrate – and then Tony was floating off the ground, holding himself steady with his feet and hands. “I can _fly_. I can shoot concussive bolts and flares. I can shoot laser beams and lift things much, _much_ heavier than me.”

Steve scratched his jaw. “Is this the weaponized suit Director Fury mentioned?”

“Yep. Only one other like it in the world, and even that’s more of a pale copy. Nowhere near as sophisticated as this one. That one really _is_ just a tank-like prosthetic with flying capabilities. Barreling headfirst into danger. Gave it to a – friend.” Tony cleared his throat and landed again. “So, are we gonna fight and let me show off what this baby can do?”

***

Turned out that Tony in the Iron Man suit could do quite a bit. For all that it should, logically, be a clunky and unwieldy exoskeleton, the suit (armor, Tony kept referring to it as) responded lightly and smoothly, let Tony take a lot of hits from Thor with nary a scratch, had a bunch of quick tricks squirreled away in the arms and legs, and Tony himself had obviously had some form of self-defense lessons, because he could box and fight man-to-man in the suit as well. Not that _well_ ; his punches were fairly sloppy, and relied more on the fact that his fists were encased with metal than conservation of effort and energy. But still, some form of self-defense, and that would give Steve a base to build off of for Tony’s eventual training.

“He’s not entirely hopeless,” Natasha had murmured after Pepper ( _“Please, Steve, only Director Fury calls me by my first name – my friends call me Pepper”_ ) had taken Tony and left.

Thor had concurred, but Steve had turned to Clint. Clint, after all, was the one member on the team who disliked cyborgs with an intense, almost irrational, hatred.

“He’s not _horrible_ ,” Clint had grunted.

Now, Steve was visiting the helicarrier to sign the finalizing contracts that would transfer Tony’s ownership to Steve – well, not directly _to_ Steve, but to the leader of the Avengers. As long as there was an Avengers team, Tony would belong to their elected leader, held on and cared for by the team in return for care and control of communication systems while the Avengers were in the field, as well as care for weapons and technology owned by the Avengers. The house was a trickier matter – Tony had insisted that that be transferred over to the Avengers, as well, but Steve didn’t feel right just _taking_ the house for the Avengers, even if Tony would move in and live there, because if the Avengers team ever disbanded, Tony would no longer be able to use the house. He’d expressed these concerns to Fury, who had agreed to have the legal department look over the contracts and trust funds for Tony to come up with a suitable compromise, and now he just needed to see what they’d come up with—

“Captain Rogers!”

Steve turned to see – who was that? Someone lower than Fury but still pretty important, someone who sat in on the meetings –

“Ah, Agent – Osborn, correct?”

The man smiled, pleased, and nodded easily. “Yes, good memory, Captain! I just wanted to ask if – well, I’m not the _head_ of my division, but I’m the assistant to the head of the munitions department, and he’s not here today though he wanted to ask you these questions himself – but will your ownership of the unit Tee-Zero mean that it will no longer be able to work with SHIELD on designs and general maintenance? Only I remember the head mentioning how it wasn’t included in the contracts you were getting ready to sign.”

Steve frowned. “It – doesn’t mean that he _can’t_ work on other things, but I don’t see any reason to specifically include it? The point of the contract is more of a formality. Surely you’ve seen the – I mean, you’ve seen him, haven’t you?”

“I’ve _heard_ of the unit, but no, never directly got involved with it. Cyborgs are a bit too unwieldy for the delicate work we do; SHIELD has always prided itself on having a human touch.” Agent Osborn shrugged a little, spreading his hands before him. “I only know that the quality of the unit’s work has declined; Director Fury implied that the unit was working on something big for us, but this seems unlikely if the reason the unit hasn’t been assigned to our designs is because it is being reassigned to the Avengers. It also seems highly unlikely that the unit would be brought on solely for communications support; after all, it is an advanced, top-of-its-field, adaptive unit. A waste of its capabilities, to be relegated to such a demeaning role.”

Steve wasn’t entirely certain what Agent Osborn was implying, but he figured there wasn’t any harm bringing the man’s concerns up in his meeting with Fury – after all, while Tony should have final say on what work he did and did not accept, he also shouldn’t feel that, because his contract had changed hands, he couldn’t work with SHIELD at all. “I’ll mention your concerns to Director Fury,” he said easily. “Right now, though, I do have a meeting with him that I’m supposed to be in.”

“Of course, of course – my apologies! I just noticed you across the deck and, well, you know the rest. Thank you, Captain Rogers!” Agent Osborn shook his hand enthusiastically and made his way down the hall.

Bemused, Steve quickened his pace so that he could get to the conference room faster – though, already, he was five minutes late. It wasn’t so much that he _had_ to be on time (the meeting couldn’t actually happen without him there to sign the papers and review the contracts and ownership papers) but his mother had always raised him to be considerate and punctual.

Opening the door to Fury’s office, Steve nodded to Hill and Potts, both of whom were present because of their respective duties – Potts was representative of Tony, since he could not legally represent himself, and Hill was head of legal and internal affairs, tasked with rewording and juggling legalese to get the desired effect, before Fury would take the contracts back to the department heads and ask for their input. They didn’t remark on his tardiness (well, Fury raised an eyebrow at him, but no one _verbally_ does anything) and instead spread out the papers on the desk, going over each section. The problem, Steve quickly learned as a monstrous headache settles at his temples, was writing up the new contract so as to give Tony autonomy without actually _giving_ him autonomy; if the wording was too blatant or lenient, others will begin to wonder why Tony – or rather, not _Tony_ , but why a _cyborg_ – gets so much say over his (its) own existence. If the wording was too strict, there’d always be the chance that someone will use it wrongly and Tony will be forced into doing things that he didn’t want to do.

“We already have that problem, sometimes,” Potts sighed as she tapped a red pen against the papers outlining the duties Tony had to perform in return for continued existence within the house set up for him and minimal access to his trust fund. “A lot of projects slide through SHIELD that Tony hates to work on, and a lot of projects and designs get shunted Tony’s way from outside sources that SHIELD wants him to look at.”

“I don’t want him to think he can’t work for SHIELD ever again, though,” Steve said, thinking back to Agent Osborn. “I want him able to take them on – if he wants, of course, but I don’t want him exclusively Avengers-only. That seems arrogant, to assume Tony would never want to work outside what the Avengers need.”

Potts looked at him strangely, but Hill nodded. “Easy enough to add a clause in that allows him to take on outside work, if he pleases. Contingent upon his owner’s go-ahead, but then, that hopefully wouldn’t be a problem.”

“He should be compensated for that work, then,” Potts interjected. Hill looked incredulous, and Steve flushed – he hadn’t even considered adding that in. “If Tony accepts an outside contract, he’s given a fair price relative to the standards of other consultants, and the money will be placed in his trust fund. He can access that money at his leisure.”

“Contingent upon his owner’s go-ahead,” Hill repeated, looking a bit annoyed, but she obligingly wrote that in as well.

There were a few other fine points to go over, clarifications and writing down basic human decency down in words so no one can skimp in the future. When Hill finally finishes amending and assessing each individual word, she and Fury left the room. Steve got up to leave as well, but Potts’ put her hand on his arm and stopped him.

“Why did you add that in?” she asked.

Steve hesitated a minute. He’d asked for quite a few things to be added in, and others to be removed, to the best of Hill’s ability. “What part?” he finally asked.

“You made sure he’d still be beholden to SHIELD. That he’d still have to do work for them.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “I did it because an agent expressed worry that Tony wouldn’t finish projects for SHIELD because his new owner wouldn’t let him. I didn’t want to take Tony away from anything he didn’t want to do. I did make certain that he could refuse it, if he wanted to.”

Potts glowered at him. “Fury is reassigning Tony to you because Tony can no longer stay in SHIELD without fearing for his safety. SHIELD, given half the chance, would take him apart to see what makes him tick. The point of this was to divorce him from SHIELD entirely.”

That didn’t sit right with Steve, and he frowned back at her. “That sounds an awful lot like you’re deciding what is and isn’t good for him, ma’am.”

“That’s because I _am_. Tony is, at _best_ , mentally an eleven-year-old, still. He may have the brains of a much older man, and certainly the urges of a much older man, but when it comes to basic human interaction, no one has developed his skills past his eleven-year-old level. Even his father – though I hesitate to give the man that designation – thought that turning his son into a metal freak meant that he was no longer a ‘son’ but merely a ‘creation’ to be used and refined for a multitude of purposes. Gregory Stark loved his son enough to keep him alive, but loved the intricate circuits he created more. Those circuits took over, when it came down to it. Though god forbid you slur Greg in Tony’s hearing; he’s attacked people who suggested Greg could have had something other than pure rainbows in his heart when he saved Tony’s life and brought him back like this.”

Steve looked at her, really _looked_. “You… like him?”

“Greg? Did I not just explain _how_ I feel—”

“No – Tony. You’re sweet on him, aren’t you?”

A light blush rose in her cheeks, even as she lifted her head defiantly. “I am, though not in the way that you probably think. That does not affect my professionalism or my ability to act as his handler, however. Not by a long shot.”

“Isn’t that…” Steve trailed off, trying to find a polite way to phrase it. “Isn’t that impossible? Him being a cyborg, and all?”

Potts gave him a scathing look. “If you think for one second Tony’s nothing more than a robot, instead of a man with flesh-and-blood feelings—”

“I meant—” Steve flushed, “ – _equipment_ -wise?”

Potts stared at him a moment, and then let out a decidedly delicate giggle. “Oh dear. No, no he is not, as I can attest to. He’s mechanical in one arm, in his right leg above the knee, and his left leg directly below the knee. He has a few organs that are purely mechanical, and a few more that are supplemented mechanically, plus the neural mesh in his brain. He meets the legal standards for cyborg, but he pisses like the rest of you.”

Steve could feel the tips of his ears turning red. “Ah. Well.”

“In any case, Captain Rogers, I want to make it clear; I love him as a mother, as a sister, and as a dear friend. He is my younger brother in everything but blood, and I feel that yes, I can make decisions for him, because – just like you would for an eleven-year-old – he is sometimes incapable of understanding basic blocks of social interaction. The wording of the clause makes me worried that he’ll read it and think you _expect_ him to continue working with SHIELD, and so he will, even if he does not _want_ to. He will do a lot to fulfill your expectations, Steve Rogers.” Learning forward, poking a finger into his chest, she fixed him with a gimlet stare. “Don’t screw him up any more than he already is.”

“I’ll try not to, ma’am,” Steve replied sincerely.

***

It takes surprisingly little time to get the papers approved, signed by Director Fury, and then signed by Steve himself – witnessed by the other members of the Avengers team, because, as Steve had pointed out, Tony would be for all of them, with all of them. He wasn’t something, but someone, and he didn’t belong to one of them, but was his own person that would be protected by them all.

“I hope you understand the responsibility I’m placing in your hands,” Fury had said, when he’d handed the papers over to Steve, the other Avengers in the room to sign as witnesses after Steve.

Now, standing in the foyer of the building that Tony had offered up to the Avengers as a new base, Steve was beginning to understand Fury’s and Potts’ worries.

The building was – a mansion, large and still heavily under construction, drop cloths draped over much of the furniture and banging echoing from the somewhere within. Steve, with his single duffel bag on his back, wasn’t certain he fit in here, and realized that this would be enough to buy quite a few people.

The problem, of course, was that Tony didn’t _need_ to buy them. Tony was an asset all on his own. Steve would have to figure out a way to show that to him. As it was…

“Looks like he did a large part of the remodeling,” Natasha murmured. “At least when it comes to that part, there. Over here, this is standard construction workers’ style; plain tools, organized work, cautious and slow.”

“We can always help him,” Steve said easily. “Let’s go find him and offer a hand.”

It took them a little while to navigate the many hallways until they found stairs, almost hidden in a small niche next to an antique grandfather clock. Following the stairs downwards revealed a basement level that looked very close to the environment in which Steve had first met Tony.

So similar that when a robotic creation rolled towards them from the shadows to their left, Steve was the only one that didn’t flinch or, in Clint’s case, jump back.

“ _What_.” And then Natasha leveled a gun at the creature.

Just as fast as Natasha’s draw was Tony, dashing across the room and throwing himself between her and the robot. “No, it’s okay, he’s a friend, they’re friends, DUM-E, they’re just friends, it’s okay!”

That made Natasha lower the gun to point it harmlessly at the floor, and Tony turned back around. His face was streaked with plaster and sweat, and he was wearing a tank top that showcased the organic arm as well as his non-organic one. His hair was a mess, and his eyes had dark circles underneath them.

“You don’t look so hot, Tony,” Clint said worriedly. “How long’ve you been here?”

Tony flapped a hand at them dismissively. “I knew you guys would sign the contract. I’ve been getting this place ready. There’s a construction crew somewhere up there—”

“They’ve gone home for the night, Tony,” Bruce murmured. “It’s about seven. Dinner. Do you eat dinner?”

Steve realized that was a question he couldn’t answer. Some cyborgs could run solely on battery power, others needed normal food, and still others needed a special protein blend. He had a lot more to learn about Tony and Tony’s care than he had initially realized.

“Yeah, I eat. Not a lot. Not often. I can go a while without eating. It’s time to eat? We can – we can call for takeout. I’m sure there’s a working phone upstairs. Or I could just hook into the data streams and place your order, if you want. What do you guys want?” Tony blinked at them, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pizza? Or something else? Pep brought food from some place… how long ago? JARVIS, how long ago?”

“Thirty-one hours ago, sir.”

“Holy _shit_!” Clint yelped, leaping again, and even Steve jerked back at the stranger’s voice.

“No, no, that’s JARVIS – security, right? I’m in charge of security, right?” Tony was talking too fast and it worried Steve. He wasn’t certain that was normal for _anyone_ to do, let alone a cyborg that hadn’t eaten in thirty or more hours. But Tony continued, “He’s an AI, like a robot, coded him myself, he’ll take care of security, he was the first thing I built here, say hi, introduce yourself, JARVIS.”

“Good evening, masters Rogers, Thor, Barton, Banner, and miss Romanoff,” the electronic voice responded. “I am Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, designation JARVIS, tasked with ensuring the building and your environment is pleasing and comfortable. I am linked to all security cameras and measures to defend the house from strangers. You merely need to request me by name and I shall respond.”

Bruce frowned thoughtfully. “That’s a strange name for an AI.”

Tony eyed Bruce a long moment, and then looked at them. “I can change it, if you would rather. To its – its unit name. If you would rather.”

“Well met, JARVIS!” Thor boomed. “I shall enjoy getting to know you and your mechanical brethren!”

“Thank you, master Thor,” JARVIS responded properly.

When no one else said anything, Tony ran his organic hand through his hair and licked his lips. “So. Uh. Food? JARVIS can order for you guys, too, if you’d rather. I mean. Well, _are_ you guys even hungry?”

“I could eat,” Steve said easily. “C’mon, Tony, let’s go see what parts of the house are habitable.”

Tony’s eyes lit up, and Steve could see what Potts had implied, the eleven-year-old looking to show off something he’d done, something he’d liked and thought was cool. “Sure, I can give you guys the tour! Everything’s mostly done, really. Well, we’ll have to share the toilet; I thought it more important that your rooms were functional before adding on bathrooms to each room, so there’s only the first floor one. For now! They should be fixed up tomorrow sometime. The construction crew was very quick. Very thorough.”

“You can share the toilet with us?” Clint asked, looking interested.

Tony grinned, almost proudly. “All my plumbing works, if that’s what you’re asking,” Tony said, winking. “I even shower sometimes!”

“Apparently, you’re all laboring under the assumption that Tony is a cyborg with human parts, instead of a human with cyborg parts.”

Coulson’s disapproving voice came from the doorway, and they turned to see him and Potts standing there. The robot that had rolled forward to greet them let out a chirrup and zipped over to Potts, wheels squeaking as it rocked back and forth. From the back of the workshop, two others rolled forward, chirping as well.

Potts smiled. “Hello there, boys. I see they came over intact from SHIELD,” she crooned, patting the top of their respective builds. “You were supposed to take a break around noon today, Tony.”

Tony smiled self-deprecatingly. “I forgot?” he hedged.

“There is Chinese upstairs,” Agent Coulson said, side-eyeing Tony but keeping his voice completely level. “Come up and eat, and we’ll figure out how this is going to work. And yes, Tony, you can give us the grand tour.”

Tony bounced on his toes eagerly, but waited for everyone to head up before following them.

Navigating the halls again, Steve realized that for the most part, the main body of work was complete. The kitchen wasn’t, though – it was one of the few rooms they passed that was still completely gutted and in the process of being built. But the dining room, a sitting room, and most of the library was complete. The gym was state-of-the-art, and Tony looked extremely proud of it. Steve didn’t have the heart to tell Tony that only Clint and Natasha could really use it – he and Thor, who did like to spar, needed specialized equipment which could withstand their above-average power and skills.

In the dining room, which had a large table and a few chairs, though it still smelled of wood and plaster and paint, takeaway boxes stacked up pretty high. Tony blinked at it, until Clint nudged him playfully.

“Thor and Steve can eat enough for ten people all by themselves,” he joked.

“Aye, I must say, the portion size on Midgard is distressingly small. Yet your merchants are very obliging of my needs,” Thor replied with a laugh.

Tony stared at Clint a moment, and then nearly jumped when Bruce patted his back. “You gonna eat with us, Tony?”

Tony licked his lips and something seemed to settle in his eyes and shoulders as he took a seat between Steve and Potts. Steve watched with approval as Tony fended Natasha off of his cashew chicken and tried to steal broccoli off of Potts’ plate.

Yeah, this might take a bit of work, but Tony was a good addition to their team.

***

“Do you have a favorite, Tony?”

Months down the road, and a few mishaps later (who knew that _over_ -charging Tony’s power source could have such a drastic effect on his personality? Though they had all benefitted technologically from the manic burst of energy that had ruled Tony for two days after that incident), Steve paused outside the kitchen, where he could see Tony sitting on the island in the middle, swinging one leg. Clint had been the one to ask the question; he was sitting at the table, watching as Thor prepared himself a monster of a sandwich. No one had seen Steve yet, and so he lingered, wondering whether Tony would answer Clint or play off the question, while trying to figure out who Tony would say. It was true that Tony still held Steve up as a role model, blatantly hero-worshipped him as a savior, and was willing to let Steve take advantage of him more than Clint or Thor. Natasha and Bruce he was still leery around, Bruce because Bruce’s curiosity was clear, and Tony was clearly willing to let Bruce poke around inside him to satisfy that curiosity, and Tony had just as clearly been instructed to _not_ do something like that by Pepper and Steve both. Natasha… well, Steve wasn’t sure _why_ Tony wasn’t that comfortable around Natasha, though it might just have something to do with her natural stand-offish personality.

But, really, he _did_ wonder who Tony would pick.

Tony hummed under his breath, even as Thor turned around and offered a smaller sandwich to Tony.

“Thor,” Tony said decisively.

Steve blinked at the answer, and even Clint seemed taken aback. “Thor?” he asked, surprised. “I didn’t know you guys hang out a lot.”

“Well, we don’t, not all that much, huh big guy?” Tony poked the tip of his shoe against Thor’s thigh.

“Nay, not as much as I would like. Apparently I give off – what would you call it? Continuous static charge?” Thor glanced over at Clint. “As Tony is partly mechanic, my powers of electricity do not always agree with his limbs. But we do play chess often.”

Clint stared at them a long minute. “So – Thor plays chess with you? That’s why?”

There was a long, measured silence, and Steve could see Tony’s shoulders had gone tight and almost defensive. “No, that’s not just why,” Tony said quietly. Hopping off the island, he put the half-finished sandwich down and smiled at Thor. “See you ‘round, big guy?”

“I certainly hope so,” Thor replied easily.

Steve watched Tony leave the room for the stairs, and then he entered the kitchen, frowning at Clint. “Why would you ask him such a question?” he asked. “What purpose does it serve?”

“Look, we all know he has a massive crush on you, I just wanted to see if he’d finally admit it,” Clint muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

Clint’s words had a blush rising to the tips of his ears, but Steve refused to acknowledge it. Like Tony’s crush, there was a lot he refused to let affect his work in any real meaningful way. After all, why bother worrying about something that wouldn’t affect anything in the long run? “Why even do that? It serves no practical purpose and only upsets him.”

“Don’t lie, you’d totally want to know if you could find out without being horribly invasive or rude,” Clint grumbled defensively, and then turned to look at Thor, who was making quick work of his sandwich. “Hey, why are you his favorite, do you know?”

Thor raised a chiding eyebrow at Clint. “Perhaps, Clint, it is because I do not speak about him as if he was an object, or talk about him when he cannot defend himself.”

That made both Clint and Steve stare at Thor in shock. Finally, Steve recovered enough to say hurriedly, “I don’t do that!”

“Of course you do. I understand it is something fairly common on Midgard, to treat your mechanical fellows as true machines. Tony has told me not to fault you for it.” Finishing the last bite of his sandwich – Thor always ate ridiculously fast – he stood up and took his plate to the sink, rinsing it before setting it in the drainer.

Clint and Steve turned to share a glance, Clint’s full of horror and Steve’s full of guilt and confusion. Honestly, Steve hadn’t even noticed it. Hadn’t thought he’d been doing anything wrong – and, in fact, had thought he had been treating Tony _better_ than everyone else. He didn’t allow Tony to work himself into the ground making things for them (well, as much as he could – he couldn’t catch Tony every time the young man decided to try a new thing in his workshop), he defended Tony repeatedly when SHIELD agents demanded Tony spent more time on their projects, he did his best to teach Tony hadn to hand combat and the basics of fighting with teammates. He tried to make certain Tony slept, Tony ate, Tony rested with the team.

He needed to speak directly to Tony, see how to fix the problem.

Clearing his throat, he moved to the fridge – his original intention had been to get something to eat, after all – but in doing so he caught Thor’s eyes, and Thor was looking at him warily. “What?” he asked, and then winced at the defensive tone.

“Nothing, Steve,” Thor sighed. “Have you been in contact with Pepper recently? She and Tony spend a lot of time at SHIELD; I would have her visit more.”

“No, I haven’t – and it’s not nothing. What? What did I do?”

Frowning at Steve, Thor turned to leave the room, and Steve moved so that Thor could not ignore him. “No, Thor – _what did I do_? I want to fix it, but you giving me disappointed looks without explaining doesn’t help me fix it.”

“It is not my place to give out secrets that do not belong to me,” Thor replied firmly. “It is also unwise to attempt to stop me from leaving.”

For a long moment, Steve stood there, trying to figure out how to get Thor to explain what was going on, and how to fix it. He obviously had seen there was a problem, a problem that was affect Tony, and Steve felt both like an idiot and horrible for not noticing the problem before now. Then he let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I just want to fix it, Thor. I want him to feel safe.” He paused a moment, and then said grudgingly, “Only you noticed there was a problem, which means I’m doing something wrong, and I’d like to know what it was that I was doing so I can correct it.”

Thor eyed him a moment, and then Clint who was slouched in his chair at the table, before letting out an explosive sigh. “You need to ask Tony these questions. That would be a good first step,” Thor rumbled. “You also should go with him to SHIELD, one of these times. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going.”

Steve stepped back – though, honestly, he hadn’t really been blocking Thor’s pathway before, merely angled so that he was in Thor’s line of sight and to the side of the door – and Thor exited the room. Turning to look at Clint, he asked gravely, “Has Tony been treated badly at SHIELD?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Clint replied. “I mean, they still send me and Natasha out on missions, but we’re rarely in the actual building itself. We’re more on the periphery, in safe houses and the helicarrier. The only time we head into NYC headquarters is for weapons and supplies and body armor. The staff there don’t know us – well, more accurately, most of them don’t know us, and the staff that do know us dislike us.”

Steve thought over the choices he had. He wasn’t certain what Thor had meant, but if Thor wouldn’t clarify, he’d have to ask Tony. After all, no one else had noticed. The last time he’d talked to Pepper, about a week ago, she hadn’t mentioned any major problems with Tony or the team. He’d also have to ask Tony if he could come along with him to SHIELD the next time he was scheduled to go in and work on contracts with them – that would probably be tomorrow, or the day after. “I’ll ask Tony, I guess. And I’ll go along with him on his next trip to SHIELD. Can you talk to Coulson, see if he’s noticed anything?”

“Sure. I’ll speak with Natasha, too, let her know Thor says something’s up. Will you talk with Bruce?”

Steve nodded, opening the fridge and pulling out a plate of leftovers. “I’ll do that. Also, we do have that training session tomorrow morning – can you keep an eye on our interactions from your position, see if you can see what Thor implied while we’re in battle situations?”

Clint grunted, but it sounded affirmative enough that Steve ignored him as he left the room and finished off the plate of leftovers.

***

“Enlarge that for me, will you JARVIS?”

Obligingly, the AI magnified the schematic floating to Tony’s left, and Tony studied it as his fingers flew over the prosthetic in his hands, soldering and checking the wiring in the section before him. It was one of the most complicated items he’d ever made, and he couldn’t wait to complete it and see how it worked. The best thing, he thought to himself, was testing out inventions after they were made.

Bruce, on the other side of the table, worked quietly on his tablet. Bruce was more a bioengineer than an engineer, and Tony had, within the first month, made certain that one of the many empty rooms upstairs had been transformed into a secure workshop for Bruce, with the best equipment he could buy. The one good thing about living with the Avengers – well, no, that was a lie, there were a lot of good things about the Avengers – one of the many good things about living with the Avengers was that here he pretty much had autonomy in his work, in his projects, in his free time, and in most financial matters.

Well, okay. He still needed to get Steve to sign off on his purchases, but Steve pretty much did those automatically now, without asking what Tony was buying. (Trying to explain half of the electrical and medical equipment at the beginning had made Tony realize how sharp Steve was, and also had made it a big enough of a hassle that Steve stopped asking, for the most part.) It was a lot more than Tony had ever had, even with his father, and it was much more than he ever expected to get.

Steve had given him the chance to pick projects, though the leader of the Avengers had made sure to give SHIELD blanket permission to send projects Tony’s way. Most, Tony poked at and sent back to them with just a few notes here and there, but there were a few that he picked up and grabbed on to.

Like this one.

“Rotate forty-five degrees, JARVIS, increase lights on the left – thanks.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Tony winced. He didn’t actually enjoy JARVIS calling him sir – the Avengers got proper titles, of course, but then again JARVIS was designed to serve them – but JARVIS insisted on the title.

Looking up, he saw Bruce watching him curiously. He didn’t mind, per se, the academic curiosity from other scientists. There had been Maya Hansen, Tiberius Stone, and Justin Hammer, all with their own levels of creepiness but also of fascination, all SHIELD scientists called in to ogle at the freak (and sometimes, do a bit more than ogling).

Leering at Bruce, he leaned back and grinned. “See something you want to poke at?” he suggested.

With a mild smile, Bruce took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses. “You’re very good at innuendo.”

“All-access to the internet, you know? Full knowledge of the darkest, dirtiest perversions trotted out for titillation.” Letting the corners of his mouth curl into a slow grin – he knew, from previous handlers, from the scientists who had come to study him, from the agents whom he equipped personally, that he was unconventionally attractive, the lure of the forbidden fruit – he spread his arms, screwdriver in one hand and the soldering iron in another. “Plus a healthy, _human_ sex drive.” Some people needed the reassurance he was human (he liked sex better with them, anyway) and for others it didn’t matter – Bruce looked like he was of the first category. “Besides, you’re pretty hot yourself, Dr. Banner.”

“You and I both know you’d prefer it was Steve, though, hmm?”

 Tony paused and narrowed his eyes at Bruce. “You are a manipulative man, Bruce Banner.”

With an easy smile, Bruce set the tablet down gently and closed off the program he’d had running. “So many people forget that fact. But I’m correct, aren’t I?”

Tony huffed and turned back to the prosthetic in front of him. “Not like he notices or cares.”

“Ah, but is that because he _doesn’t notice_ , or because he’s in a position of authority over you and doesn’t want to abuse that?” Bruce murmured.

DUM-E rolled over, letting out a soft whine, but Tony ignored the offered tray with coffee in favor of lifting an eyebrow at Bruce. “Who _doesn’t_ abuse their authority in some way, at one point or another? If that’s what he’s waiting for then I better set him straight – I very _much_ want him to abuse his authority in that way.”

“I don’t think you understand—” Bruce began, but Tony had had enough, and he was ready to make it plain to _someone_ because seriously, people, why was it only the alien who could grasp this very basic fact?

(Probably had something to do with environmental factors and socialization and culture, but Tony wasn’t inclined at the minute to be charitable towards his other teammates. [Except Natasha, poor girl, who would promptly kill him when she found out about his pity.])

“No, I think I understand pretty well. I think it’s _you_ guys who don’t understand, okay? I know I keep pointing out that I’m very much _human_ , thank you, _I am no matter what anyone else says_. Okay? So yeah, there are things I’m legally not allowed to do. I’ve been talked about as if I wasn’t in the room and had all my major life choices taken away from me. I get ordered about and am expected to be grateful for the small freedoms I get.” Distantly, Tony realized he was furious, shaking, metal hand clenched tight enough to make a grinding noise, DUM-E’s claw resting gently against his back, and Bruce watching him, just _watching_ , no emotion on that face. “I’ve had people expect for me to roll over and people who call me defective and honestly I think I am, sometimes, because this is no way to live, this halfway point between human and not, but I’ve been around for more than fifty years and I can take care of myself if it comes down to it. You think Steve would’ve been the first to have sex with me as my owner? Do you think he’d even be the first who’d try it without making it an order a cyborg has to obey? You look at me and you see a curiosity and I don’t mind letting you poke in my insides. _I make that choice. Me._ Stop expecting me to not understand the weight of my fucking actions. I was a goddamned genius as a kid and nothing is damaged in my head at all. The neural mesh saved my life, _without_ enslaving me, and _no one fucking gets it_.”

Bruce stared at him a long moment before nodding slightly. “Well. Maybe we don’t,” Bruce said quietly.

“We sure as hell would like to try, though,” came Steve’s voice from behind Tony, and it was all Tony could do to not bang his head against the workshop table. Instead, he turned around to see Steve standing in the doorway.

God-fucking- _dammit_.

“Hey there, Steve,” Tony said easily, trying to hide the prosthetic away before realizing that Steve wouldn’t know what it was for in the first place. Which was good. Really. “How long you been there?”

“Long enough, I would think,” Steve murmured.

But there was a different between _long enough_ and _from the beginning until now_ , especially considering Bruce had been crass enough to point out Tony’s hard-on for their leader, so Tony folded his arms. “I would like an exact approximation, to know exactly how much damage control I have to do.”

At least Bruce had the decency to look ashamed.

Steve looked between them a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “Since the middle of your rant, I would think. And you – you know I would never order you to do anything intimate with me at all, right, Tony?”

Bruce blushed and muttered under his breath about some delicate experiment (lies, all lies, if Bruce had had _anything_ running in his lab he wouldn’t have been down here keeping Tony company) and then left the workshop as fast as humanly possible (traitor).

Well, at least seducing Steve would be easier without an audience. Though an audience would keep Steve from using Tony’s shut-down commands or from punching Tony in the face.

So Tony put down his tools and took the (dirty) rag from 8TR-FNG3R5 (Butterfingers, as Tony affectionately called him; the prototype for delicate metal arms that were now equipped on almost all SHIELD jets to do quick repair and patchwork in the middle of a fight). Wiping his hands mostly clean, he dumped the rag on the bench and pushed away from it to stand challengingly in the middle of the floor, arms spread. “So what do you have to say, Cap?” he asked, making certain to keep his voice from being too challenging to keep this from devolving into a fight too quickly.

Steve looked back at the door, where Bruce had just left, and then turned back to Tony. Tony watched Steve’s shoulders tighten, steeling himself for the confrontation, and then Steve said calmly, “I came down here because Thor said that if I wanted to know why you picked him as your favorite, I needed to ask you.”

That was so far off the topic that it threw Tony for a loop, and he found himself speechless. He stared at Steve a moment, unable to formulate any kind of response at all. Which, apparently, made Steve uncomfortable enough to start talking again.

“I mean – I know you are – who you have as your favorite is your choice, but Thor said – Thor _implied_ that it was our own fault, and I know that I need to work to be better, but – Tony, I can’t make myself better if you – if _someone_ – doesn’t point out there’s a problem. You know?”

There would never be a better opening for Tony than right now, he decided, and so he strode over to Steve, standing directly in front of him and in the man’s personal space. Steve, startled, took a half step back.

“What if I said I wanted to kiss you, Steve?” Tony asked, voice playful but eyes serious, looking for the first hint of trouble.

Steve went very pink in the face.

“What if I said,” Tony continued, stepping forward, and Steve stepped backward involuntarily, “that I wanted to let my hands discover every dip of your truly impressive abs? That I wanted to see if that adorable blush travels further down your chest?”

Steve swallowed and said weakly, “That’s highly inappropriate, Tony.”

“Why?” Tony replied immediately, challengingly. “Why is that inappropriate?”

“Your – I – I’m your team leader,” Steve finally said, licking his lips.

Tony watched that pink tongue dart out with intense interest before lifting his eyes to Steve’s. “What if I quit the team?” he murmured. “What if I did nothing for the Avengers except make weapons? What would you say to me then?”

“It’s – Tony, it’s still inappropriate, it’s not… good,” Steve squeaked, because Tony took another step and drove Steve back another step, pressed up against another worktable.

Tony shook his head and took another step forward, making Steve hit into the edge of the table and sit down, sending mechanical bits flying. Startled, Steve looked down around him, and then looked up in surprise as Tony leaned forward. “No, that’s not good enough,” he mused, nose and mouth close to the underside of Steve’s jaw, looking in fascination at the fast pulse. “Try again. Why is it inappropriate in that context? Because it’s really not. No authority as team leader then to abuse.”

“Because I _own_ you, Tony!” Steve finally burst out, looking panicked. “I don’t – I don’t like it, I don’t want it, but it was take you from SHIELD or leave you there and—”

“Okay, stop right there,” Tony said firmly, pulling back and putting his hand over Steve’s mouth. “You’re going to listen to me and we’ll see if you can bump Thor out of my favorite spot, okay? You with me? Steve?”

Steve nodded slowly.

“Okay. So. We’re going to break this down. I’ve been providing your Black Widow and Hawkeye with weapons for eight months now – six months before I even became known to you, let alone a part of this team. Fury, for all that you think SHIELD is horrible, actually does try, like Pepper and Agent – ah – Coulson – well, you know who I mean. They, and a few others, do try to remember that I’m human, and you can see it. I was allowed to refuse some projects. Certainly I was allowed to ignore requests from your team, because you break and wear out your weapons _so goddamn fast I swear_ it’s _insane_. But I didn’t. Because I wanted to. Okay? _I wanted to. Me._ And Fury didn’t bring up the change of ownership to me, mostly because he, like _you_ , have trouble remembering I am actually _human_ thank you, but I could have argued with him. I could have told Pepper no deal, and she would never have let it get to the point of drawing up contracts. I could have told Agent that I didn’t like this and he would have stopped it on your end. Okay? _I could have stopped my transfer at any goddamn point I wanted to and I didn’t_.”

Tony paused, taking in a deep breath, and glowered at Steve. “You with me so far? You getting this?”

“Ahfinkso,” Steve muttered around Tony’s fingers.

“Good.” Tony took a deep breath. “Good. Okay then. So. You don’t really _own_ me. Also, this is different than _you_ coming onto _me_ , which yes, has happened before, I’ve had bad handlers and owners before, but you’re _not them_. I want you. I was going to do this more delicately, try and actually seduce you and slowly ease you into this, but you and your eavesdropping tendencies have efficiently killed that, so. I’ll just put it all out there – I want to sleep with you. More than once. In an exclusive context, even, if you’re willing. Okay? So. You want to know why Thor’s my favorite? It’s ‘cause he _doesn’t treat me different from you or Clint or Natasha_. Okay? That’s it. That’s the story.”

Letting go of Steve’s mouth, he stood there and breathed in deep. Steve sat there, on the edge of the table, staring at him.

Oh well. What the fuck. He’d already screwed this six ways to Sunday anyway.

Quickly, Tony leaned forward and slotted his mouth against Steve’s, kissing the taller man tentatively, tasting plush lips and Steve’s breath and nipping at the corners. Steve tasted of coffee and spice, of musk and strength, if strength had a taste. Pulling back, Tony licked his lips and met Steve’s stunned gaze.

“Well. Now that I’ve made an idiot out of myself,” Tony mumbled, and he retreated back to his table, turning his back on Steve. He was trembling, and he hated feeling this way. He’d only felt this way one time before, when he’d tried to start a relationship with Pepper – and she’d told him, gently and firmly, as if he was a child, that the only reason he was latching onto her was because she was one of the few who treated him right, that it was a case of hero worship that she would be taking advantage of.

He _hated_ other people telling him his own motivations.

DUM-E rolled over with a tiny whirr, and Y0U hummed from his corner. Tony smiled tiredly, patting DUM-E’s sensor and then picking the soldering iron back up.

Movement from behind had him freezing, especially when he could _feel_ Steve standing behind him, even if his proximity sensors weren’t alerting him to that fact.

“What?” he asked, striving to keep his voice completely level.

Steve cleared his throat. “You – you can’t just kiss me and – and not let me reciprocate.”

The words were tentative, gentle, and Tony turned around to see that Steve was blushing, but his eyes were steady. Sure, there were doubts there—

—but Steve was _standing_ there and not punching Tony or telling him gently that he was mistaking hero worship for affection, lust for love.

Tony grinned widely and put down his tools, but didn’t stand up, just looked up at Steve. “While I would love to let you reciprocate, Steve, I want to warn you: I am a horny half-machine who rarely has more company than his own hand so if it goes any further I can’t guarantee I’ll throw the brakes on, and you should probably think this over and see if you really want to get into a relationship with me. After all, people will never actually think that I walked into it willing, and will question you. People will think you have a secret tech kink.”

Steve turned redder, if that was even possible, but he folded his arms. “I have never let what other people say stop me from doing something,” he replied primly.

With a predatory smile, Tony stood up, clicking his fingers to have JARVIS shut down most of the projects and schematics he had up and running. “We should take this upstairs, then,” Tony murmured, leaning forward and breathing deep, even as Steve’s hands came out to cup his elbows – _both_ of them, his flesh _and_ his mech elbow – and kiss at Tony’s temple and hairline. “Wouldn’t want impressionable young robots to see this, after all.”

***

Steve closed the door to his room and stared. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t once or twice had wet dreams about Tony (to his guilt and shame, at the time, for lusting after someone who was dependent on Steve), but those dreams did nothing to prepare him for the reality.

The reality was dark brown eyes turned almost black, pupils dilated. Dark hair messy and still sweaty from working on whatever project Tony had picked up recently. Tank top that showed off organic and inorganic arms, the metal gleaming in the dark of the room. Worn jeans clinging to hips and molded to thighs and ass (Steve had had more than a few inappropriate fantasies about that ass), revealing bare feet – inorganic feet, but Steve had already come to terms with his obsession with Tony did not shrink from his metal limbs in any way. The reality was Tony, standing in the middle of Steve’s room, looking both utterly seductive and completely lost. It made Steve want to walk over to Tony and set his hands on Tony’s hips, pull the shorter male up against him, kiss him senseless.

Instead, Steve swallowed and said, slowly and deliberately, “I don’t want this to – move too fast. To rush things.”

At that, Tony paused – he’d been reaching for the hem of his shirt – and cocked an eyebrow at Steve. “How slow are we talking? Because you’ve been giving me blue balls for a while, and if you do it again I may just expire from frustration.”

The emphasis and teasing in Tony’s voice startled a laugh from Steve. “Well – let’s just keep our hands above the waist for right now, okay?”

Narrowing his eyes at Steve, Tony put his hands on his hips and scowled. “Do we get to rub off on each other?”

“If – if you want. Yes. We can.” Steve fought the blush, unsuccessfully.

Tony chuckled. “You are just too precious for words, you know? I can believe that you were just oblivious, now. I thought maybe you were purposefully ignoring my crush, in the beginning. Which, let’s be honest, is exactly something you would do if you were more worldly and had noticed it, so it’s not even something crazy to think.”

As he spoke, he pulled off his shirt and let it fall to the side. Steve had seen him shirtless before, of course – that first time, watching him get into the Iron Man armor, and times afterwards, when he’d train Tony in the gym or watch Clint or Natasha train Tony. Now, though, looking at the glowing blue circle, the mechanical arm anchored into the upper part of Tony’s chest and ribs, the faint scars lining the smooth expanse of flesh, the heavier scarring that started over his shoulder and, Steve knew, continued down his back, the puckered marks surrounding the ports of the inorganic arm – now, looking at Tony, he allowed himself to really _look_. He stepped forward, into Tony’s personal space, and gently placed a hand on Tony’s left shoulder, feeling the contrast between cool, smooth metal and heated flesh.

“Does it hurt?” Steve murmured, curious but in a vague enough way as not to seem too morbid. “The arm?”

Tony shrugged, letting his right hand slip under the hem of Steve’s shirt and caress Steve’s abs and navel absently. “It aches, sometimes, in the cold. But it’s built to self-regulate its temperature, so that’s more a mental ache than an actual physical one, at most temperatures. Extreme temperatures, of course, would be – ah – wouldn’t be – mmm – recommended.”

Steve took his mouth off of Tony’s neck, licked up to Tony’s ear. “This might be easier lying down,” he whispered.

“God, yes,” Tony gasped out, metal hand going to Steve’s waist and curling – gently, delicately – in the dip of Steve’s hips. Steve was under no illusions about what Tony’s inorganic limbs could do. After all, most cyborgs were military-grade operatives with unyielding metal limbs and blind obedience. The fact that Tony was so careful with his metal limbs, and that he had a good enough grasp on how to use his limbs so as not to accidentally harm anyone, was intoxicating and made Steve feel, inexplicably, proud.

Also a bit restless, because he really _could_ heal quickly, and Tony could be rougher than that without any fear of damage to Steve in any way. And while Steve didn’t particularly enjoy pain for the sake of pain… he certainly liked the idea of it.

A thought for another time, though. Thinking in general was getting harder because Tony had stepped up into Steve’s personal space to force Steve back and had started nipping at the column of Steve’s neck in retaliation. With a sigh, Steve tilted his head back and lazily rolled his hips against Tony’s – feeling the thick outline of Tony’s reaction.

Yeah, all the plumbing was working, alright.

He did want to move to a more comfortable position before it got too far, so he walked forward, forcing Tony back to the bed. There, he pushed – gently – and Tony went willingly enough, falling onto the bed parallel to the headboard and footboard, letting his hands drop from Steve’s hip and abdomen to go to his own pants and undo the button and zip there.

Steve stared at the straining flesh in those boxers and licked his lips.

“Oh, god, you’re killing me Cap, you know that, right?” Tony groaned, canting his hips up in mute supplication. “Blue balls for _months_ and then you look at me like that. I’d really rather not shoot off in my shorts, but I’m going to if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Steve murmured, pulling his shirt off and then crawling onto the bed, on his hands and knees above Tony. Very carefully, he leaned down and let just his lips brush Tony’s.

With a moan, Tony opened his mouth to Steve, licked his lips and nipped at Steve’s bottom one playfully. “You certain about taking this slow?”

“Very,” Steve murmured, hooking a hand under Tony’s armpit – the organic one – and hitching him higher up on the bed so that Steve could lick and bite at Tony’s throat. “It’s very important to take one’s time.”

Tony grunted, one hand – the inorganic one – going to Steve’s hip again, while the other curled around Steve’s neck and buried in the hair at the base. “Take any more time and I’ll mistake you for a glacier,” he grumbled, and then gasped as Steve’s lips brushed over a nipple.

“Hmm. Sensitive here?”

“You _fucker_ ,” Tony gasped again, shamelessly bucking his hips up. Steve was just high enough that their groins brushed without any real friction, though it was enough to give Steve pause, his breath stuttering out of his chest.

Then he moved over to the other nipple, pressing a sucking bite over it, and Tony whined, eyes falling shut and fingers clenching in Steve’s hair, holding him tight against Tony’s chest. “Oh god, yes.”

“Can you come just from this?” Steve wondered aloud, bringing his other hand up to the nipple he had deserted and running a rough fingernail over the pebbled nub.

“ _Fuck_ , you fucking _fucker_ , now is _not the time_ , I swear—” Tony babbled, inorganic hand cold and heavy against the small of Steve’s back, pressing Steve’s hips down. “Another time, god, just let me come, stop _teasing_ me—”

And. Well. They had the whole night, didn’t they? More even, if Tony was to be believed. Grinning, Steve obliged the press of Tony’s hand and aligned his cock with Tony’s impressive erection.

“Just because we’re going slow,” Steve murmured, rolling his hips against Tony’s and making the slighter male keen and whimper, “doesn’t mean it’ll be boring. And teasing, Tony…” He trailed off, lifting his head to lick at the shell of Tony’s ear, which prompted a flood of babble and exclamations from Tony’s reddened lips, “Teasing can be very fun.”

“ _You_ —” Tony breathed, and came in his pants.

Steve was still hard, still lazily rocking his hips against Tony’s. “We’ve got all night, don’t we?”

Tony was dazed, a silly smile on his face, the flush of his arousal coloring his neck and chest darker than the rest of his skin. “That we do,” he murmured, and he put his hands on Steve’s hips. “No touching below the waist with our hands, I assume?”

“Or mouths,” Steve added hastily, even as his dick spurted pre-cum at the very idea of those reddened lips stretched wide around Steve’s thick erection.

Tony hummed to himself sated and blissful. “Roll over, soldier, and let’s see if I can find _your_ hotspots.”

Laughter turned into moans as Tony straddled Steve’s hips and, slowly and purposefully, rubbed Steve to completion.

***

Steve woke up to the feel of Tony’s fingers lazily trailing over his chest, sketching out numbers and lines. Steve couldn’t make sense of the sketches, and he didn’t particularly want to. At the moment, he was reveling in the scent of skin and metal, of the metallic tang and salty taste on the back of his tongue, in the heavy weight of Tony sprawled across him, metal limbs tangled up in Steve’s own. The blankets were twisted around their hips – they had gone several more times throughout the night, though Tony had remained respectful of Steve’s limits and pants had stayed on (were _still_ on) – and lazy sunlight crept across the floor. Not early enough for Steve’s run, but after dawn. A quiet time in the mansion.

“You’re thinking too much,” Tony murmured.

Steve let out a quiet laugh, bringing his hand up to card fingers through Tony’s messy hair. “Yeah? Aren’t I just, pot?”

Tony huffed out a breath, muttering under his throat. “ _I’m_ thinking about neural relays and biometrics,” he said, voice puffed up and snide. “ _You’re_ thinking about our training schedule or your morning run, both of which are ungodly things to be thinking about this early.”

“It’s not that early,” Steve hummed, shifting a little to curve his neck and look down at Tony, who was lying on top of Steve’s chest with his chin propped up on his forearm. “Besides, I was wondering. You are at SHIELD an awful lot, lately.”

Tony’s eyes grew shifty. “Yeah, so?” he asked, a bit defensively.

Steve was well-versed in what shifty eyes meant – he and Bucky had gotten in enough trouble as boys that he was well-versed in all expressions of guilt and culpability. But this wasn’t straight-forward guilt; Tony was hiding something else, too.

“What are you doing there?” Steve asked.

Tony winced. “Can I tell you in a couple of days?” he asked. “I mean, if you _really_ want to know, sure, but I can promise you it’s nothing bad. Natasha’s been going with me, and we’re… kinda working on a project together.”

“Together?” Steve frowned. He knew that Tony worked with all of them, to greater or lesser degrees – Clint on bows and range of movement, Bruce on nanotechnology and biochemistry, Thor on electronics that would withstand the level of electricity generated by Thor’s mere presence, Steve himself on training programs, and Natasha on her Tasers and her nifty gadgets. Still, none of that ever required their presence, just their input and discussion. And none of them had ever needed to go to SHIELD.

“Yeah. She has a kinda… personal stake in this project. And there are some things only she can get done.”

Steve considered pushing for more, but figured a few days wouldn’t hurt anything too much. Besides, he was already going to go and speak to Natasha about Tony; he could subtly try to get more out of her at that time. “Okay. A couple of days?”

“Yeah. Just give me three or four; he’ll – we’ll be right as rain, then.”

Steve looked at Tony closely. “You’d tell me if someone was giving you a problem at SHIELD, right?”

“Why?” Tony asked, surprised. It was genuine, too – he didn’t know why Steve was asking, and he didn’t understand why he needed to tell Steve.

Biting his lip, Steve opted for the most neutral answer that wouldn’t piss Tony off. “Because you’re an Avenger now, and SHIELD agents don’t get to bother you anymore.”

Tony eyed him suspiciously. “You’re lucky the afterglow’s lingering,” he finally muttered, lowering his cheek to Steve’s chest and breathing in deep. “I’ll let you off this once.”

Steve smiled fondly and patted Tony’s back, fingers brushing the white scars there. “I’m going to try and get a small run in.”

“You’re inhuman,” Tony grumbled, but he flopped over obligingly and wiggled to the side as Steve pushed himself up. “I expect coffee. Lots of it.”

“I’ll set the coffeepot going, then,” Steve laughed, ducking into his bathroom and freshening up, wincing as his briefs – saturated from their night’s activities – clung uncomfortably to his skin and hair. Carefully tugging the cloth free, he jumped into the shower and washed himself off efficiently, then exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist to get dressed. Tony had apparently fallen back asleep, or at least wasn’t moving in the least, and so Steve remained quiet as he pulled on his sweats and a loose t-shirt.

His running shoes were at the side door, and as he was tying the left one’s laces, he looked up to see Natasha standing in the doorway. “Yeah?” he asked, trying not to blush. He was a lot more sexually confident and learned then when he had first woken up, but he had been embarrassed by Bucky’s teasing and he’d still be embarrassed now.

A small smile quirked Natasha’s lips. “Little late for your run, isn’t it?”

Flushing, Steve finished the last loop and stood up. “Well, I’m still going to get it in,” he mumbled.

With a soft laugh, Natasha turned towards the kitchen. Before she went very far, though, Steve remembered Tony, and his and Clint’s worry that someone was taking advantage of Tony at SHIELD.

“Hey, Natasha?”

She turned back, one eyebrow cocked.

“Tony says you and he are working on a project at SHIELD?”

For a moment she stared at him, obviously confused, and then comprehension flooded her eyes. “Ah. Well, I suppose you could call it a project. It’s really more of – a reclamation. Bringing someone back.”

“Bringing someone… back?”

“You’ll be the first to know once his condition stabilizes. But yes, Tony is helping in a small capacity. Why?” she asked curiously.

“Well… I want someone to keep an eye out for Tony. I’m worried that – that someone’s taking advantage of him, making him feel like he _has_ to do projects. And he’s an Avenger; he shouldn’t feel like he owes anyone anything, anymore.”

Natasha furrowed her brow at him. “And I suppose I’m just supposed to… follow him around the helicarrier, or HQ?” she asked incredulously. “He’s a big boy, Steve – he can handle himself.”

“Still. Just keep an eye out for him, yeah?” He opened the back door and set out on his run.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more the actual fill; the previous chapter was build-up. The fill is as follows:
> 
>  
> 
> _Steve, head of the Avengers, gets a cyborg T0-NY, one that's supposedly top of the line but that somehow has a personality with a massive chip on his shoulder._  
>  _  
> “A cyborg with a personality and a chip on his shoulder about it sounds amazing (and more than a little hilarious). I kind of feel like a cyborg with an (accidental?) personality would be fiercely defensive about the fact that he is a person, damn it, while secretly wondering if he really is or not, which sounds like a very Tony kind of thing to be.”  
> _
> 
>  
> 
> I kinda missed the mark on Tony wondering whether he is human or not, but there's definitely the problem of the team (with the exception of Thor) thinking of Tony as an individual with his own thoughts and abilities and opinions. I hope that counts?

When Tony had finally revealed the ‘project’ – Bucky Barnes, returned and rehabilitated and completely smitten with Natasha – Steve had nearly fainted. The guilt he felt for Barnes’ fall, and the grief, hadn’t disappeared overnight. He spent much of his waking moments with Bucky – well, whenever Bucky wasn’t with Natasha. The two of them were not… not _demonstrative_ in their love, in the way Steve thought of love, but they moved around each other in quiet orbit, shared silences, and secret smiles. Steve enjoyed having Bucky back for many reasons, but mainly he enjoyed finally having a sparring partner again. While Clint and Natasha certainly made Steve work for his win, and Thor was a challenge, Bucky knew Steve’s weak spots and made Steve that much better. The workouts were cathartic in a way, and Steve left them feeling drained but much, much lighter.

The other Avengers adapted easily to Bucky’s presence, and while he didn’t go out with them on _all_ of their missions, he became a permanent enough fixture that he started joining in on the team sessions. Thor liked Bucky (there were few people Thor did _not_ like), Clint liked Bucky, Natasha obviously adored him, and while Bruce was reserved with Bucky, he (and the other guy) worked well with him. Tony was both possessive and stand-offish, but Steve was pretty certain he enjoyed Bucky like everyone else did.

“I don’t think Tony likes me all that much.”

Steve was so surprised by that that he dropped his guard and Bucky landed a punch with his metal arm before he could check it.

“Jesus, Steve, what the hell? I could’ve broken your jaw with that!”

“I would’ve healed,” he mumbled, rubbing at it as he picked himself up off the floor. “Tony likes all the Avengers, Bucky. He was fine with you, I thought. Why the hell do you think he doesn’t like you?”

Bucky shrugged with one shoulder, looking uncomfortable. “I dunno, man. He really helped me, you know? Me and Nat. I thought everything was fine, I really did. We joked and everything, never gave me a word of complaint. But since I’ve come here, it’s starting to become obvious, and it’s affecting teamwork.”

That _really_ didn’t sound like Tony – Tony prized his position in the Avengers, had been the one to convince Fury to give him a try (which Steve had found out much, much later, and only because of a throwaway comment by Fury). He wouldn’t jeopardize his position by letting _anything_ affect working with the team.

“I’ll talk to him,” Steve finally said.

At that, Bucky looked even more upset. “He’s not that great with _you_ , either, you know?”

And _that_ made Steve stare at Bucky in disbelief.

“Hey, I’m just saying what I see, okay? When’s the last time he’s sat down and talked with you? You guys were best buddies when SHIELD let me out of their medical center, and now I barely see you two in the same room.”

That made… a scary amount of sense. Tony had been pulling away from Steve, both in public and in private. He’d been making excuses for not sharing a bed with Steve anymore, he’d changed his mind about sharing a private dinner with Steve more than once because of projects he was doing in the workshop, and he certainly had been skipping out on team events more and more often. Steve hadn’t known how to bring it up, mostly because he did still, technically, _own_ Tony, and he didn’t want to force the cyborg to spend time with him if Tony didn’t want to anymore. If Tony was pulling away because he didn’t want to… to _be_ with Steve anymore, well… Steve couldn’t stop him. Steve had no right to tell Tony to do anything. No one treated Tony as human, because of what he is, and Steve had made enough mistakes in his treatment of Tony that he wasn’t going to make _this_ one, too.

But if Tony wanted to end things, would he really speak first? The guy who was willing to subject himself to whatever science procedure Bruce wanted? They guy who volunteered the trust fund for their use – who _still_ tried to use up every last dollar that was in his name for the Avengers?

No, if Tony thought things were bad, he’d distance himself, but he wouldn’t break things off.

Steve needed to talk with Tony.

***

It took Steve longer than he would have liked to track down Tony, mostly because the Avengers had a supervillain to stop (again) and then clean-up to handle, and then Steve had to figure out where Tony had disappeared to and why. Finally, almost a week after his talk with Bucky, Steve managed to find a time when Tony was in his workshop.

“Hey, Tony, what’re you up to?” he asked, keying in his code and entering the workshop.

DUM-E ignored Steve – which was pretty uncharacteristic, actually – while Y0U whirred up to Steve’s side sadly. 8TR-FNG3R5’s was at Tony’s side, jointed arm holding an array of tools.

Tony twisted to look at Steve. “Hey, there, look at you. Been a while since you came down here. Do you need me?”

Steve bit his lip. “No, I just – wanted to see you.”

For a moment, Tony stared at him a moment before smirking, though the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. “Bullshit, Steve. Who sent you down here?”

“No one _sent_ me down here, I just… someone pointed out a problem that I had ignored for a while, and called me out on ignoring it.” That was diplomatic, right?

“And I was the problem?” Tony asked, and his voice was flat. Before Steve could answer, he turned back to the machinery in his hand, taking a screwdriver from 8TR-FNG3R5.

“ _No_!” Steve said, shocked.

At that, Tony turned back around, weighing something in his eyes as he stared at Steve. Finally, he sighed and set down his tools. 8TR-FNG3R5 let out a low, whirring sigh, but Tony was reaching for the nearest rag and wiping off his fingers. “Alright then. If it’s not me, what is this problem that requires speaking to me?”

“I – I _miss_ speaking with you,” Steve said, stung and not sure what page Tony was on, because it seemed like they definitely weren’t all on the same one. “Bucky pointed it out—”

“Of course he did,” Tony sighed. “I need a drink. No, DUM-E, I saw what you put in that blender. JARVIS, do I have anything down here?”

“You do, sir, though your glassware is not clean.”

“Who needs a glass?” Tony mumbled under his breath, moving over to a line of cabinets and pulling out a bottle of wine.

The AI let out a soft sigh. “Of course, sir.”

Steve felt as if it was back in the first week of having Tony around, treading around issues no one wanted to get into. “Tony, if I’ve done something wrong – if Bucky’s said anything to you or treated you wrong – please, let me know. I can’t fix it if I don’t know there’s a problem.”

“Fuck, Steve, why should I bring it up?” Tony snarled, popping the cork and taking a deep swig. “What does it matter, huh? You have Bucky now.”

The wording of that last sentence made Steve pause, and he considered his answer very carefully before saying, “Bucky’s with Natasha. They’re very happy together.”

“I know that!” Tony snipped. “Why do you think Natasha was going with me to SHIELD when I was fitting Bucky with his arm? It certainly wasn’t because _I_ was hot to look at. Lovebirds could barely keep off of one another even when I was doing the connective surgery.”

“ _That’s_ why Natasha went with you?” Steve asked, shocked.

Tony nodded, taking another large mouthful of wine and rubbing the glass against his forehead. “Of course. Why, why else would she come? Did you tell her to come with me?”

Steve opened his mouth and closed it.

“Of course. Of course! Why wouldn’t you? Why wouldn’t you send a chaperone with me, Tony, the monumental screw-up that you need to _babysit_ all the fucking time?” Tony snarled, throwing himself to his feet and pacing back and forth.

“No, Tony, that’s not—”

“ _SHUT UP!_ ” Tony screamed, picking up a screwdriver and throwing it at Steve’s head – Steve ducked at the last minute and stared in shock at Tony. “You shut the fuck up and listen to _me_ because you _still don’t understand I’m a fucking PERSON_!”

Steve stared, wide-eyed, as Tony advanced on him.

“You don’t fucking _get it_ , do you?! You couldn’t let poor little cyborg Tony go to SHIELD on his own; no, you sent someone to make certain I didn’t fall and scrape my knee, didn’t you? You sent someone because you couldn’t trust me to handle myself! You always send Thor with me to make certain I never get in trouble in the field, you never let me forget that I’m fucking _different_ than you and for fuck’s sake, you treat Bucky better than you’ve ever treated me!”

That startled Steve out of his silence. “I do not!” he said indignantly. “I thought – I don’t treat Bucky better than you! And he’s a very old friend, what do you want me to do, just not speak to him at all?!”

Tony heaved a book at Steve’s head – this time Steve caught it – and advanced on Steve. “I don’t see you treating _Bucky_ like he’s a cyborg!”

“He’s _not_!” Steve replied immediately, instinctively.

“And I suppose _I_ am?!” Tony yelled, grabbing Steve’s shirt and shoving him back a couple of steps. “Your precious friend isn’t a cyborg, but I _am_?!”

Steve squared his shoulders. “He’s not, and _you’re_ not, and I thought this was settled, wasn’t it? We already _had_ this discussion!”

“And it doesn’t matter how many times we have it because you keep _fucking it up_!” Tony shouted. “Bucky isn’t fully human, and yet you _never_ ask him if he needs back-up, you always trust him to handle himself, you don’t ask _Natasha_ if she’s forcing Bucky to be in her bed even though you question my decision to be with you _all the fucking time_ , if something’s wrong with Bucky you ask _him_ instead of going to his _handler_ , if you think there’s a problem you approach _him_ not the people around him!”

Steve stared at Tony, and Tony glared right back, chest heaving, nose flaring. After a few heartbeats, Steve whispered, “I didn’t realize.”

Tony let out a bitter laugh. “You never fucking do,” he replied cuttingly, and then he turned his back on Steve, shoulders falling. “Get out of my workshop, Steve.”

***

“You’re moping.”

Steve glowered half-heartedly at Natasha. “You never were watching over him while he was at SHIELD, were you? He’d have picked up on it if you did.”

“Did I really need to?” Natasha murmured.

“I was worried – I _am_ worried – that SHIELD agents are asking more from him than he feels he can deny. That they’re loading him down and taking advantage of him.” Steve stabbed at the apple he was cutting up into slices. “I just want – I want to take care of him. Why is that so bad?”

Natasha poured a cup of iced tea from a pitcher and fished out an orange soda can from the door of the fridge before turning to face Steve. “You,” she said deliberately, “are treating him as if he is an infant. There is a difference between showing careful concern and worry for a loved one, and purposefully wrapping a loved one up in bubble wrap. One implies that you want them to pay attention to their surroundings; the other implies you do not trust them to pay adequate attention to their surroundings.”

Poking at the apple slices disconsolately, Steve let out another sigh and tried not to think about how much he’d treated Tony like a child. “What if he can’t protect himself? What if he really doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings?”

“Then it’s time that he learned,” Natasha replied crisply. “You had to; James had to. Everyone here had to, while we were in school, while we were learning. Tony didn’t because he never went to school past the age of eleven, but that doesn’t mean he can’t learn, just that he _didn’t_.”

Steve groaned and placed the knife on the table, scrubbing his face. “I’m talking about him again instead of speaking directly to him. I always seem to fuck up with him.”

“Ooh, Steve’s cursing? Something bad must be going down.”

Clint swooped past Steve, snatching up two pieces of apple, before heading straight for the cookies Bruce had made last night. Natasha easily tripped him and picked up her two glasses. “James and I will be in the gym until further notice. We’ll thank you to steer clear.”

“Sure thing, Natasha,” Steve replied, even as Clint grumbled and stood up, dusting himself off. “What’re you doing, Clint?”

“Looking for a snack. Obviously. What are _you_ doing? You were cursing! You never curse if you can help it.”

Steve watched Clint pull out five cookies, another one clamped in his mouth, and huffed. “I was in the army, you realize. I know a lot more curses than most of you think I do.”

“Yeah, but you don’t use them unless something’s really pissing you off. What did Tony do?” Clint asked around the cookie as he poured himself a glass of milk.

“Not Tony – me. I – I thought I was treating him better, and it turns out that I just changed the form of the treatment, not stopped it.”

Clint crammed the rest of the cookie in and managed to say through his muffled mouth, “Tha don’ make a ick o sense, Eve.”

“I just – after that one day, with Thor? You remember?” At Clint’s nod, Steve picked up an apple slice and began nervously stacking them. “I tried. I thought I was doing well, I focused on talking to Tony instead of to others _about_ him, I just – I was taking it slow with him, partly because, well, _because,_ and partly because I didn’t want to – to pressure him. To make him feel like we had to do something. Anything. I just.”

Clint swallowed. “You wanted to give him something special.”

“Exactly!” Steve said, pointing at Clint with a slice. “I just – I wanted to treat him right. To do everything perfect, normal.”

Clint took a sip from his glass and then sighed. “I am probably the worst to give you this kind of advice, but – there isn’t anything perfect, you know that, right? You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to try, and when you make mistakes, correct them and try not to do them again. That’s – that’s the closest to perfection our partners ask from us.”

“Speaking from experience?” Steve asked with a sigh.

Clint nodded.

***

It wasn’t perfect. Of course it wasn’t – that was the point of this, after all, wasn’t it? But it was – it was kebab and shwarma, with Coke. It was a few candles, and roses. It was a carefully worded invitation, relayed through JARVIS to Tony because Tony was in the middle of making Bucky’s arm more responsive.

Steve had – he’d given in and asked JARVIS specifically how to treat Tony better. He’d been working on learning Tony and Tony’s needs from Tony himself, instead of asking others – but he felt justified in this case. After all, if he offended Natasha or upset Clint, he would go to their handler and ask his opinion in making it up to them. And just like Phil didn’t have to answer Steve if he felt Steve deserved to suffer, so too did JARVIS have the option to not answer Steve’s questions.

It made him nervous, waiting to see if Tony would pull away from his work long enough to come up. Hell, if Tony was really pissed he might not even give Steve a chance to apologize. He shifted from side to side, got up and paced the length of the room, checked and double-checked that everything was in place for what he had planned.

When the door finally opened – about a half hour late, but really, he was just ecstatic that Tony had showed up – Steve had nearly worked himself into backing out, so uncertain and nervous about this plan.

Tony stepped in the door and paused, looking over at the table spread out with his favorite food, a few candles placed here and there, the overall lighting barely more than thirty percent to cast the room in a dull glow, and then looked over at Steve, who has stopped in the middle of his pacing and stood there, fists clenching and relaxing at his side.

“Steve?” Tony asked, voice warring between angry and curious. “What’s going on?”

“I want – I wanted to tell you that it was wrong of me, to treat Bucky differently than you when there’s no different, at all. I also – I wanted to tell you that you _are_ different, in a way, because I’m not sleeping with Bucky and I never wanted to,” Steve blurted out, and then blushed to the roots of his hair.

Tony squinted at Steve and then leaned against the door. “I’m thinking you mean that in a different way.”

“Yes! I mean, I think so? I just – I never wanted to protect Bucky. I never wanted to – to wrap my arms around him and shield him from the world. I want – I want to do that with you.” Swallowing, Steve took a step forward and then paused, not certain if he should wait for Tony to make a move (or at least some indication that he wanted Steve to approach).

Tony tapped a finger against his arc reactor and thank goodness Tony was a genius and could read between the lines, because Steve was messing it all up. “You want to protect me, and _that’s_ why you’ve been acting like this.” He paused, and his voice grew uncertain and quiet as he continued, “But you don’t want to protect me _because_ I’m a cyborg?”

“Exactly!” Unconsciously, Steve took more steps forward, bringing him within touching distance of Tony. “Right. That’s – I didn’t mean to, to treat you like a child, or like an object. That was _never_ my intention. I just – I like protecting. And I wanted to protect you. So I went – overboard. And while I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again… if you tell me to back off, I will. I swear it. You let me know that it’s hit unacceptable levels and I won’t do it, Tony, trust me. I never wanted – I never meant for you to feel like I don’t think you can handle yourself.”

“What if any hint of it is unacceptable?” Tony demanded, stepping forward and shoving a mechanical finger in Steve’s chest, glaring up at Steve. “What if I have had _enough_ coddling and I don’t want it any more, not even a little bit! What then?”

Dry-mouthed, Steve dropped his gaze. “I can’t promise not to do it at all,” he whispered. “I’ll do my best. But – but consider this. Natasha knows Bucky can take care of himself. And yet she still keeps some of the more irritating SHIELD agents away from him. It’s not because she thinks he _can’t_ handle them – it’s that she doesn’t think he should have to, if she can remove them from his path.”

There was complete silence from Tony, and Steve wasn’t brave enough to raise his eyes to see Tony’s expression.

Finally, he heard Tony sigh, and then the poking finger relaxed, Tony resting his hand against the flat plane of Steve’s chest. “I guess that’s the most I can ask for,” he murmured.

That gave Steve hope enough to lift his eyes and look at Tony, who was looking at him with an odd mix of fondness and exasperation and surprise. “You – forgive me?” Steve asked.

“Damn you, but I do,” Tony sighed. “I should go find someone who’s into tech and loves me for my body, but damn you, I love you.”

That stopped Steve cold.

“Oh, don’t even, you big lug, you love me too, you’ve noticed my favorite foods and brought them here. I assume this and those roses were part of the groveling process? And that you probably had a longer, lengthy, dramatic speech planned out?”

Steve went more and more red with each word, and he mumbled, “Clint or Natasha mentioned something to you, didn’t they?”

“Nope,” Tony said with great relish, letting the ‘p’ pop on his lips as he moved over to the table. “Bucky told me to go easy on you, that you were still adjusting to not having to be the big alpha male protector and that I can train you out of the worst of it.”

Steve blinked. “Bucky? I thought – I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I like him a hell of a lot more than most people, and I certainly liked him quicker than I liked half of you guys. He never treated me as a robot with inconvenient flesh bits.”

Horrified, Steve put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Did we really treat you like that?” he whispered. “How – how can you forgive us?”

“For acting like everyone else? Hell, for acting like Pepper did when she first met me, or Rhodey? Even dad, at some points?” Tony smiled crookedly. “If it helps, you and Natasha did it less than Clint and Bruce. And Bruce is a scientist who looks at things in parts, anyway, and Clint’s brother was drafted into the military cyborg’s program as an end to his prison sentence, so even they’re kinda understandable when it comes down to it.”

Steve didn’t even think about it, just pulled Tony into an all-encompassing hug, arms wrapped around the slim shoulders, forehead pressed to the top of Tony’s head. Tony took it for a few moments, but then he was wriggling away, eagerly looking at the plates of food set out as his stomach growled. “This is – this is the best apology ever, Steve, really,” he said, and Steve reluctantly let him go.

“I’m glad you – you like this bit.”

Steve would have gladly bit his own tongue off when he realized his nervousness had given away the rest of the game. As it was, Tony paused and turned around, cocking an eyebrow at Steve. “What do you mean, ‘this bit’?” he asked.

Steve swallowed. “Let’s eat first. You’re hungry, after all. And after, well. After.”

Tony eyed him suspiciously before easing himself down in the seat. Steve might not have been a great conversationalist, but he found that just listening to Tony talk was more than enough for him, and he’d gotten better at following the quicksilver turns of Tony’s thoughts. The roses cast delicate shadows on the wall, and Steve just wanted to capture this moment in his sketchbook, with charcoal and a soft yellow, the candlelight and lowered lights making Tony’s darker complexion glow.

“Earth to Steve, you okay?”

Steve blushed. “I’m fine,” he replied, finishing off his Coke in order to try and forestall any further questions – but of course Tony was not that easily put off.

“What was the problem?” Tony asked. He was done by now, toying with his cup.

For a heartbeat, Steve considered lying, but figured Tony would probably take Steve’s distraction as a compliment. “No problem. Just – sketching in my mind. Picking mediums to draw – this, here. You. The light.” Steve smiled, small and quiet. “I just think you’re very handsome.”

Tony stared at Steve a long second before sucking in a tightly controlled breath. “I have to say, Steve, I think I’m more than ready to move on to the second part of the evening.”

“Oh?” Steve asked, both surprised and amused, though he took Tony at his word and carefully began stacking the plates and neatening the table, blowing out the candles as an afterthought. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure it has something to do with why we met in your bedroom instead of the kitchen or a common room for dinner, and I’m more than ready to jump into that humongous bed of yours,” Tony replied quickly, standing up.

This was, this shouldn’t be as nerve-wracking as trying to explain himself to Tony, but somehow, it was. It hadn’t been like Steve had been a virgin before he came to Tony, or that Steve was virginal and pure and innocent, even though most of his teammates assumed it so, and even Fury looked surprised when Steve cursed.

(Just because he didn’t _like_ to curse often didn’t mean he couldn’t curse with the best of them.)

So it wasn’t the act so much that made Steve anxious, but the fact that the act would be _his_ this time, instead of his partner’s. Still. He both wanted awesome make-up sex and wanted to show Tony that he trusted him in control.

Moving to the bed, he pulled open the drawer and laid out a few condoms and a bottle of lube, before starting to strip down. Tony moved forward, as if to help, but Steve shook his head. “No, Tony,” he murmured. “Let me do this. Just watch.”

“Kinky,” Tony muttered, but his eyes were dilated and he was unconsciously licking his lips, leaning forward on the balls of his feet as he watched Steve disrobe. Steve did his best to turn it into something slow and teasing, but it was hard enough with his fingers shaking – making the process more complicated than it was certainly wasn’t to his advantage.

When he was done, he crawled onto the bed and spread his arms out, gripping the headboard and wrapping his fingers in the leather ties he’d put there earlier. Tony didn’t move, still staring at Steve like he wasn’t certain what to do, so Steve figured in for a penny, in for a pound. “You’re in control tonight, Tony. Whatever you want, however you want. Everything necessary is right there. And you can even tie my hands firmly, if you want to make certain my hands stay here.”

Tony’s eyes darkened predatorily and he licked his lips. “ _Any_ thing I want?”

“Well, I’d prefer if you didn’t try to kill me,” Steve admitted. “But – yeah. Anything.”

Steve tried not to flinch or curl up as Tony’s eyes traveled over his body, top to bottom and then back up again. He tried to keep from urging Tony to _do_ something, move faster. He was _trying_. It wasn’t working that well, but he most definitely was trying.

After what seemed like _hours_ , Tony licked his lips and moved to the edge of the bed, sat down. Carefully, he placed his metal hand over Steve’s calf and slowly moved it up to Steve’s inner thigh, not exactly touching but close enough to Steve’s skin that Steve could feel the metal brushing the hairs on his leg. Tony stopped short of Steve’s groin, though, just letting his hand hover there.

Then he stood up and backed up, stripping off his clothes efficiently and quickly.

“What if… what if I said I wanted to ride you?” Tony murmured, voice curious as he shucked off the last bit of his clothes and clambered up onto the bed.

Steve bit his lip. “I’d say that’s an amazing image,” he said breathlessly.

“And… what if I just wanted to suck you for hours, keeping you on the edge of your orgasm for all that time, never allowing you to come?”

Steve tried to keep his breathing steady, but Tony was straddling him now, knees on either side of Steve’s waist, ass pressing against Steve’s pelvic bone, his metal limbs cool but rapidly heating up. “I’d – god, I’d beg for you,” he gasped. “I wouldn’t want that, but I’d let you, anything Tony, anything you want, everything—”

He hadn’t realized his eyes had fallen shut until they flew open when Tony’s teeth latched onto a dusky nipple and _bit_ , tongue laving at the sting afterwards. “God, _Tony!_ ” he yelped, looking down his chest.

Tony smiled, smug and happy, before sliding up Steve’s torso to wrap the leather firmly around Steve’s wrists. Steve couldn’t help tilting his head up and licking at the head of Tony’s half-hard erection.

Tony inhaled sharply and looked down at Steve with mischievous eyes. “Someone’s eager,” he panted, but he couldn’t fool Steve – his eyes were dilated, and he was very obviously excited and pleased with Steve’s action. Even humped forward a bit, enough to paint Steve’s lips and cheeks with his pre-cum before leaning back, breathing hard.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, we’re not – that’s not what’s happening right now. Another time. God, but another time.”

Steve pouted at Tony and licked his lips clean.

With a groan, Tony dropped his head and tried to steady his breathing. “Damn,” he whispered. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Steve just wiggled his eyebrows and smirked. He had missed this, this easy banter and playfulness with Tony. For all that Tony’s past sexual experiences had always been tainted and affected by the fact that almost no one saw him as anything but a cyborg, Tony still had an unrestrained enthusiasm and joy in the act, and put Steve at ease simply by being himself.

Taking in a deep breath, Tony slid back and rubbed his ass against Steve’s erection teasingly for a moment before raising himself up to his knees. “You’re gonna watch, Steve,” he groaned, grabbing the lube from the night-table where Steve had laid it out earlier. “You’re gonna watch as I open myself up for your dick. You’re gonna – uhh – you’re gonna sit there and watch and just take what I give you.”

“You’re taking too long,” Steve grunted, pushing up off the bed in vague hopes that that would spur Tony to move faster.

Tony just grinned, lazy and self-assured, as he slicked up two fingers (his organic ones) and then leaned back, arching his back so that, if Steve raised his head, he could watch one, then two fingers slide in and out of Tony’s hole.

“God, gonna feel so good with you inside,” Tony grunted, his inorganic hand planted on the bed to shove his body in a more extreme arc, head thrown back and disappearing from Steve’s sight, his dick slapping his belly and leaving spots of pre-cum over the line of hair that went from navel to dick.

“Please,” Steve whispered, licking his lips.

Tony got two more fingers in, spreading them and twisting to make himself loose, and Steve watched, aching and sweating, as four fingers spread that tiny pink hole, skin making a slapping, sucking noise as they pumped in and out. “Oh, god, Tony, please,” he moaned, canting his hips up so that his cock would brush against the insides of Tony’s thighs.

“Not – _yet_ ,” Tony grunted, pre-cum painting the sides of his cock, and really, Steve didn’t want Tony to get _hurt_ but he was already worked up, thinking about this all afternoon, and nervous on top of it. It was torture to watch Tony’s fingers spread, revealing glimpses of slick skin and flushed-pink skin, a gaping hole twitching around Tony’s fingers, and Steve could feel the cool of Tony’s metal legs bracketing either side of Steve’s hips, pressed against Steve’s heated skin.

Finally, _finally_ , Tony pulled his fingers out and gripped Steve’s erection right behind the head, aiming it for Tony’s hole. Steve sobbed out an affirmation, a plea, as Tony sank down until he was seated right up against Steve’s groin, balls pressed to Steve’s lower abdomen, knees gripping Steve’s sides and pinning Steve down, preventing any type of thrust or movement.

The heat, the grip of Tony’s ass, the slick vise of Tony around Steve’s cock, had him gasping and jerking ineffectually at the leather. Not that he couldn’t pull free – he could – or that he couldn’t forcefully flip Tony over and pin him to the mattress – he could do that as well. No, the jerking reminded him he was supposed to stay still, he was supposed to let Tony run this, and Tony apparently was a much bigger tease than Steve had ever thought possible.

“You really care for me, huh?” Tony whispered, lips sliding up Steve’s chest to press teasingly at one nipple – which subsequently pulled Tony’s ass up, a long, slow glide that had just the tip of Steve’s dick in Tony’s ass.

Steve’s nipples really weren’t sensitive (Tony’s were, though), and so it was more due to the fact that he desperately wanted to come than the sensation of Tony’s lips and tongue against his nipple that had Steve gasping and whining. “Please, Tony, yes, I do, I – I do.” He cut off the other four-letter word that wanted to spill from his lips, focused on the man straddling his chest. “I do,” he whispered.

“Good answer,” Tony murmured, nipping at the pebbled nub before pushing off of Steve’s chest and reseating himself. Steve let out a choked yell – and then Tony was riding Steve’s dick, grinding his hips and thrusting for all his worth. It was just _Tony,_ though. Tony, who kept his knees and hands pressed down on Steve hard enough that Steve couldn’t do more than buck a couple of inches up and then sink back down. It was Tony who set the pace, hard and fast and then slow and deep, shifting and twisting and writhing on Steve’s cock, and Steve could only watch, dark-eyed and hungry, muscles corded as he fought to keep from touching the beautiful man keening and panting towards his completion.

When Tony found a particular position he liked, he got down to business, fucking himself on Steve’s cock, his inorganic hand slipping behind his ass to cup Steve’s balls, and that was it, Steve couldn’t hold out anymore. With a shout, Steve’s head dug into the pillows beneath him, back bowing in the little space he had, spilling into the warm, wet cavity. Distantly, he heard a cracking noise, and then the slap of Tony furiously masturbating. Moments later, Tony was clenching around Steve’s sensitive dick – Steve flinched a little but was really too worn out to move much – and shooting come over Steve’s chest before flopping limply down to the side of Steve, breathing ragged and heavy.

“Y’broke th’bed,” Tony mumbled into Steve’s chest, head pillowed on Steve’s bicep.

Belatedly, Steve realized that his hands weren’t held up any longer but were resting flat on the bed. Wincing – he liked his bed, and hoped he hadn’t broken it too badly – he brought his right arm around Tony’s body, curving his fingers around Tony’s hip, and brought his left hand up in front of his face. The leather was still wrapped around his wrist, and said leather was still attached to the pole. Steve sighed and dropped his hand down on the bed. “I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Steve?”

Steve had thought Tony had drifted off; he paused and twisted his head a little to try and look at Tony, but all he could see was sweat-matted hair and the edge of Tony’s lashes. “Yeah, Tony?” he murmured, tucking Tony closer against his right side.

“I really care for you, too.”

Steve couldn’t stop the goofy smile spreading across his face, the warmth pooling in his chest. “Yeah?” he whispered.

Tony curled closer, nuzzling against Steve’s ribs (Steve tried not to flinch and laugh, but his ribs had always been sensitive to tickling). “I also know why you treat Bucky different than me. And I wasn’t – I wasn’t _really_ upset.”

Now that they had moved to more serious territory, Steve tried to dismiss the afterglow and focus on his words. “You were upset, Tony. You stopped talking to me and to Bucky, and Bucky thought he’d done something wrong.”

“It’s just – he never had to work for it, or prove it. And I know – I know it’s just his arm, he doesn’t meet the legal definition of cyborg, but…”

“But why did I accept Bucky, when I wouldn’t accept you?” Steve murmured. “Why could Natasha sleep with Bucky, when our relationship isn’t perfect.”

“Maybe I’m not human enough to have a relationship the way Bucky can,” Tony muttered.

Steve shifted, rolling Tony onto his back and coming up on his side so he could look Tony in the eye, meet those warm brown eyes, so filled with uncertainty. “You are human, Tony. Never let anyone tell you different. We’re all just idiots trying to get a handle on you, okay?”

Tony smiled weakly – and his smile gained sincerity as Steve lowered his lips to Tony and kissed, slow and sweet and gentle.

“I love you, Tony, okay? I’m going to make mistakes, I’m going to mess up, but I will always do my best by you, okay?”

Tony searched his eyes a long moment before nodding. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (but seriously, I can rewrite it or rework it if it missed the mark in any way)


End file.
